


The Remarkable Destiny of Marquis Noir: A Boosh Regency Tale in Too Many Parts

by BobSkeleton



Category: The Mighty Boosh (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Historical, Alternate Universe - Regency, Angst with a Happy Ending, Attempted Rape/Non-Con, Bad Moms, Clothes Porn, Drinking, Drunkenness, Epistolary, Eventual Smut, Family Dynamics, Gen, Happy Ending, Implied/Referenced Drug Use, M/M, Masturbation, Mentions of Cross-dressing, Minor Character Death, My Kink is Historical Clothing Deal With It, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Period-typical sexual repression, Prostitutes to the rescue, Regency Romance, Robbery, Smoking
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-11
Updated: 2020-04-16
Packaged: 2021-03-02 02:34:49
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 16
Words: 48,763
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23597677
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BobSkeleton/pseuds/BobSkeleton
Summary: Vince Noir has recently inherited the title of Marquis from his departed guardian, and is going to London for the first time to honor his benefactor's last request. He stays with an old family friend, the mysterious Naboo of Xooberon, and while there, makes the acquaintance of one Lord Howard Moon, Duke of Leeds. Vince must learn how to run his estate, navigate the twists of high society, uncover the secrets of his own history, and make a suitable match before adversaries from his past ruin his future.
Relationships: Howard Moon/Vince Noir
Comments: 80
Kudos: 21





	1. Preface

A couple of months ago, [A_Little_Boosh_Maid](https://archiveofourown.org/users/A_Little_Boosh_Maid/works) made a [Tumblr post](https://littlebooshmaid.tumblr.com/post/190670232886/mag-arena-ready-for-the-cover-of-a-regency-romance) which was kind of a prompt for a Howince Regency romance.

I read this post at 11PM. By 2:30AM, I was almost done plotting the thing.

Regrettably, I did not stick to the original prompt, and that is still a story I would LOVE to read. But once I started mapping this one out, it made more sense to have Vince be the ingenue and Howard the Duke, at least for this story.

I did a lot of research and my Bachelors is literally in English Literature with a focus on British Lit from 1700-1900 so this is MY JAM. I tried to keep it historically accurate as much as possible, but I mean, it _is_ a Boosh fic.

The plot borrows heavily from _Evelina_ , by Frances Burney. I love old books, but this one is such a trial to get through… I almost can’t recommend it! But it is funny, and very telling of its time.

This story doesn’t take place in a certain year, which is why all the letters remain undated. It is sometime between 1800-1810, maybe around 1804. There are some historical inaccuracies, but I will point those out. Expect a lot of author’s notes!

Also, because I am a nerd of the highest degree, I made not one but _two_ playlists to accompany this story. The first is a list of classical music that I either referenced in the fic or listened to while writing or imagined the scene being set to. The second is a playlist of 2000s pop music. I was very much influenced by Sofia Coppola’s _Marie Antoinette_. I started out making a New Wave soundtrack, but it ended up being _all_ The Cure, and didn’t fit the feel of the piece. If this piece had a soundtrack, it’d be the candy-fluff, nonsensical, fun sound of the early 2000s. In my defense, that’s not the music I was listening to at that time, but it fits well with the silly, fun feel of the fic, I think.

I hope you all enjoy reading this story as much as I loved writing it. It was so much fun to get lost in this world and live there for a few weeks while I wrote it. Massive thanks, as always, to [blackmountainbones](https://archiveofourown.org/users/blackmountainbones/pseuds/blackmountainbones/works), my wonderful beta and crackwife, for looking this over and being so encouraging. Also thanks to A_Little_Boosh_Maid for the idea, and thanks to _you_ for reading!


	2. Coming Out of My Cage

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The late Marquis de la Forêt has passed away, leaving his title to young, inexperienced Vince Noir. As part of the late Marquis's last requests, Vince is to journey to London and stay with an old family friend known as Naboo. Unfortunately, his head servant, Bob Fossil, is insistent upon joining him on this new adventure as the young Marquis enters society for the first time.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Classical song: [Harp Concerto in C Major, by Francois Boieldieu](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Ba4WzGC692c)
> 
> Other: [Mr. Brightside, by The Killers](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=CS-s4el5Pew)

_ (letter from Bob Fossil to Naboo) _

Dear Lord Naboo, 

Allow me to introduce myself: my name is Robert Fossil, and I am the majordomo of the Maison du Ferry. It is with a heavy heart that I pen this missive. As I’m sure you’ve now heard, the Marquis de la Forêt, Bryan Ferry, has recently passed on. His death came as a shock to all who knew and loved him, most especially to those in his household, of which I am head. My late master dictated that, in the case of his demise, you should be kept abreast of any developments in regards to his young charge, Vincent Noir. The late Marquis did not tell me why, and I must admit to being peeved about that. I like to know what’s going on in my own household--or rather, the household I’ve been hired to keep. 

You will understand that I am very protective of Vince-- my apologies, of the young Marquis. Though the title of Marquis transferred to young Vince at the moment of his guardian’s passing, per Marquis Ferry’s will, and the requisite half-year of mourning has been observed, it is with difficulty that I acknowledge young Vincent Noir as the current Marquis de la Forêt. Having known Vince since he came to live with my master as a baby, it is far easier for me to think of him as the child sliding down my master’s bannisters, rather than the master of the house himself. I can only thank God that my master had the foresight to put his final desires into writing and have it approved and sealed by his solicitors. What ill and abhorrent fate would have befallen young Vince had he not been properly provided for? This cruel world would not look kindly upon a young man raised in wealth and isolation, a possible bastard, and an orphan. 

Are you aware of my master’s parentage? I admit that my late master did not find it incumbent upon himself to make these facts known to me and I have long been curious. I can only assume that you are a piece of the puzzle of Vince Noir’s lineage, though I would not wish to seem impudent in the eyes of your Lordship. 

My late master also made it known to me that, in case of his death, he wished for Vincent to be reunited with an old acquaintance, Lord Naboo of Xooberon. Again, I admit my surprise, as Marquis Ferry never made any mention of a Naboo, and though I’m not an educated man, I have never heard of any country, shire, duchy, or province called Xooberon. 

I do hope this letter finds you well, and please reply back to us. The late Marquis indicated his desire that Marquis Noir be integrated into London society, hencewith to make a suitable match. You are to be our contact in this venture. We anxiously await your reply. 

I remain, faithfully yours,   
Robert Fossil  
Majorodomo, Maison du  Ferry Noir, Marquis de la Forêt

_ (letter from Bob Fossil to his friend, vaguely-implied-lover, and evil overlord, Dixon Bainbridge) _

Dear D.B.--

Thanks for helping me write that letter! I sound smart! 

Love,  
B.F. 

_ (letter from Naboo to Dennis, head of the Secret Order of Shaman) _

Sire: 

Ferry is dead. Has been about six months. The boy is grown and has been left in the care of the simpleton, Bob Fossil. I await your instructions. 

-Naboo

_ (letter from Dennis to Naboo, translated from Secret Shamanic Code) _

Dearest Naboo, 

Thank you for informing us of the Marquis’s untimely demise. I have consulted with the Order and it has been decided that it is best for Vincent to come to London. He shall be under your care as you introduce him into society--he has, after all, been raised in the Forest of Orleans, in near complete isolation lo these twenty years, and will be in dire need of guidance. 

As always, if the Order can be of any service to you during this time, do let us know. Lords Saboo and Harrison stand at the ready to aid you in any way they can when it comes to the boy’s education and reintroduction into polite English society. Saboo has been instructed to find out if his financial situation is secure-- I’m certain Marquis Ferry left him a sizable inheritance, but I do not trust that the fortune has not been squandered by this late hour. Damnation! Nearly a full year past! If funds are required, do let us know. The Order’s purse is ready to offset any costs incurred by bringing Noir’s son back into the fold.

I will use this opportunity as a gentle reminder to frequent the opium dens of London less. We would have known about this sooner had you been keeping a closer eye on the situation in France. 

Under no circumstances is Vince to be told about his parentage. All will be revealed to him when the time is most prudent. 

Do let us know if you have further inquiries, and best of luck, Naboo. 

I remain, faithfully yours, 

Dennis  
Head of the Secret Order of Shaman of Xooberon

Postscript: in future, please remember to encode your messages, per our bylaws. 

_ (letter from Naboo to Dennis, properly encoded and here translated) _

Dear Dennis, 

Fine. 

-Naboo

_ (letter from Naboo to Bob Fossil) _

Dear Mr. Fossil, 

Thank you for following the late Marquis’s last wishes; that was exceedingly decent of you. My condolences to you and young Vincent. Ferry’s loss was very unexpected, and he shall be missed by all who knew him. 

I would like to humbly extend an invitation to the young Marquis to stay with me for a time in London. Indeed, the late Bryan Ferry impressed upon me the utmost importance of this last wish. He strongly believed the boy needed to be reintroduced into the society of his people--he is, after all, half English, and I am the designee of the honor of hosting the young Marquis.

You are correct in your assertion that the parentage of your new master is, indeed, none of your business, and I thank you to concern yourself with the issue no further. 

I will be glad to come and retrieve the boy. Is one month enough time to set his affairs in order for an extended trip to England? 

I await your reply,  
Naboo

_ (letter from Bob Fossil to Naboo, with a stain in the bottom right corner shaped like the bottom of a teacup) _

Dear Lord Naboo, 

I must beg your forgiveness for my impertinence--I meant no offense. I merely hoped that you could shed light on a mystery which has puzzled me for eighteen? Nineteen? A lot of years. 

It is with great pleasure that we accept your invitation. However, I must decline your obscenely generous offer to retrieve Marquis Noir. We will travel together to London. Our stay would be indefinite… I would hate to impose upon you for so long a time. If any houses suitable for a Marquis are available in your proximity, could you please do me the favor of letting me know? We could rent a place for the season, at the minimum, perhaps longer depending on how the Marquis feels about England and if he is happy there. 

I remain, your obedient servant,   
Robert Fossil

_ (letter from Naboo to Fossil) _

Sir, 

I will permit the young Marquis to stay in my home as long as is necessary. If he decides he wants to purchase a home in London on his own, I will do whatever I can to assist him. 

-Naboo

_ (properly encoded letter from Naboo to Dennis) _

Sire, 

The servant, Fossil, is not to be trusted. I have a dark inkling that he is reluctant to let Vince stay in my house for some nefarious reason. I will keep a close eye on Vince, and try to keep Fossil as far from him as possible without being suspect. 

-Naboo

_ (personal diary of Vince Noir) _

I cannot  _ believe  _ I am finally to go to London! 

Mr. Fossil’s been such a mother-hen over absolutely everything since Bryan died. Don’t get me wrong… I miss Bryan. He is the only family I’ve ever known, acting as both mother and father to me. Without him, I would doubtlessly be in some wretched orphanage or worse, on the streets, trying to fend for myself. I will forever be grateful to Bryan for taking me in, and I do miss him terribly...

But I am ready to shed my black clothes and see my father’s homeland! I am ready to dance and to have conversations and see people my own age! I dream of the cobbled streets and foggy air of London nearly every night. It is in my blood, after all. I have beheld Paris, with its little streets and corner cafes, its fashionable shops and clothes. I want to see and hear  _ London,  _ breathe in the briny Thames, see the theatre at Drury Lane and Regent’s Park, and maybe even Bath… I can barely sleep with excitement! 

_ (first letter from Vince to Naboo) _

Addressed to his Lordship, Lord Naboo of Xooberon, 

Dear Sir, 

There have been many thoughts in my head these last few days, and I find they make an inconsolate din. Foremost among them, however, is my anticipation at meeting  _ you.  _ I cannot help but feel that you have the advantage of me, since you must, in some fashion, know me and I, in no fashion, know you. 

My name is Vincent Noir, as you know, and my guardian, Bryan Ferry, the Marquis de la Forêt, has recently passed. I suppose since Bryan’s untimely death, I am now the Marquis, though I do not feel much like one. The man of our house, Mr. Fossil, has handled nearly all the business of our estate and assures me things are in good order. Bryan was a good and kind guardian, but he did not train me in the ways of managing an estate or even, I am ashamed to admit, what a Marquis actually  _ does.  _

Having spent the last six months in mourning, the requisite period of grief is now completed. Mr. Fossil has informed me that you have so graciously extended to me an invitation which, I do not feel is an exaggeration to say, will change my life. To come to London! This is what my sweetest dreams are made of! 

I will freely admit to you, because, though we have not met, I feel I can trust you, that I do not know my parentage. All I know is that I am possibly a bastard, definitely an orphan, and was raised in the forest estate by, what Parisiennes call, the “Mad Marquis.” I cannot imagine why you should desire to ingratiate me into your company, but I do not write to question your motives! Merely to express my gratitude, excitement, and make preliminary introductions. I may not know much, but I was not, contrary to popular rumors, raised by wild animals. 

Bryan had mentioned you before to me, only once in passing, that he had a great and wise friend, Lord Naboo of Xooberon, who resided in London. He told me you were part of a Secret Society. Is that true? If it is, it is the most exciting thing I could possibly conceive of! Though, I suppose, if it  _ is  _ a Secret Society, you couldn’t tell me even if you  _ were  _ a member. There is so much to think about it, my head is positively muddled!

Anyway, though I do not know exactly who my parents were, Bryan always told me that my father was a man of letters, philosophy, a member of the English nobility, and a cuckold. After their separation, my mother, who was of French descent, died in childbirth, and my father never fully recovered from the grief, dying shortly thereafter before my identity could be made known to him. If my mother was such a heartless philanderer, my parentage is even more in doubt. This is all very confusing and saddening to me. Anything you might know, any small clue, to assist me in solving this puzzle would so greatly soothe my troubled mind. 

How did you know Bryan Ferry? He never really said, only that you moved in the same circles. Are you sure you want me to come to London? I admit, I have never been out in society, even though I am twenty, and it is absolutely embarrassing--my cheeks flush, even as I write this, out of mortification. I have seldom been in company with people my own age, and there is so much I don’t know. Are you sure you want to take on such a burden? I will release you of any posthumous obligations you feel you owe to Bryan if that would suit you better. I am certain he would not wish to inconvenience you with my presence. He always said I talked too much, and indeed, if the length of this missive is anything to judge by, he was correct. 

I wish I could come to you on my own, but Mr. Fossil insists on accompanying me. I hope he will not further inconvenience you. He means well but he’s a bit of an idiot, a busybody, and a loudmouth. Still, everything I know I learned from him and Bryan, so I cannot begrudge him too terribly. 

Will you teach me how to dress like they do in London? I try to keep abreast of the latest fashions in Paris, even though I do not wear them myself. Bryan always thought fashion was vanity and insisted on clean, well-made, if a bit formal and old-fashioned, clothing. I  _ know  _ my hair is a fright, and I apologize in advance for the figure I shall cut stepping out of our carriage. 

Are you sure you want me to come, my Lord? I do hope you say yes, for since your missive to Mr. Fossil arrived, I have barely slept due to sheer excitement. However, if you say no, I will understand completely and accede to your superior judgment, and will think none the lesser of you. 

I do hope to hear from you soon, as I remain, 

Hopefully, your new friend,   
Vince Noir, Marquis de la Forêt

_ (letter from Naboo to Vince) _

Dear Vince, 

Yes. I do desire for you to come to London. I am a member of a Secret Society but you must tell  _ no one.  _ I will help acclimate you to London culture, though I admit, I’m a bit of an eccentric myself. You will, therefore, fit in just fine in my household.

Safe travels, and I look forward to meeting you. 

Best regards,   
Naboo

Postscript: You will not step out of a carriage when we first meet, as you will have to take a boat to reach England.   
  


_ (personal diary of Vince Noir) _

Naboo wrote back, and he  _ does  _ want me to come to London! I can barely keep my lines straight, my hands shake with such emotion. Bryan used to scold me for not playing my feelings closer to my vest, telling me I was as hysterical as a woman, but I cannot help it! And he signed the letter “Naboo,” no formal titles or addresses! And he addressed me as “Vince!” He’s in a Secret Society! Oh, I cannot help but feel my life is like a top, whirling at once so quickly and out of control, all the colors blending together, and where it will stop, no one, not even I, knows! 

We depart in five days for London. How will I survive until then???

_ (letter from Fossil to Bainbridge) _

M’Bainbridge, 

Thank you for looking over my letters so I look smarter. It’s appreciated. We leave in three days’ time for London. I leave the house in your care. I’ll do everything I can to remain close to Vince and not let this new fancy duke character get in the way of our operation.

Your faithful loving servant,   
Bobby Bob Bob

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Aaand we're off! 
> 
> Just to set some things straight real quick: this story takes place in the early 1800's, during the Regency Period. 
> 
> The Regency Era lasted from roughly 1811-1820. This is the era of Jane Austen and her stories. The Regency falls into the larger bracket of the Georgian Era, which lasted from 1714-1837, and included the works of Romantic poets Lord Byron, Percy Shelley, and the American Revolution.  
> The period before this was known as the Rococo or Late Baroque era (roughly the 1680s-1740s). Think Marie Antoinette, Mozart, etc.  
> The Victorian Era lasted from around 1837-1901. This is when we have the Brontës, Dickens, and Queen Victoria. This is the last era before the Industrial Revolution changed the face of Britain and the world forever, ushering us into the modern era. 
> 
> I am not an historian, so these facts are based only on my research. They're just to give you a guideline as to when this fic takes place in history. 
> 
> Requisite periods of mourning changed dramatically when Queen Victoria took the throne. At the time of this story, the period of mourning for a parent or guardian was six months, which Vince has just completed. Being in mourning meant no major life events (like weddings) could take place if you were the chief mourner (which Vince is), as well as requiring an all black wardrobe until the period of mourning is complete. Not following these rules would be considered in bad taste and a snub to the deceased.


	3. Everybody's Waitin' for Me to Arrive

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Vince arrives in London and meets Naboo and Saboo. Vince begins to suspect that maybe Fossil is not as trustworthy as he once thought.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Classical: [Quintettino Op.30 No.6, G.324 - 4. Passacalle, by Boccherini](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=lAcrilrKTVw)  
> Other: [Get The Party Started, by Pink](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=mW1dbiD_zDk)

_ (personal diary of Vince Noir) _

My excitement has waned a bit in favor of exhaustion. Having never traveled further than Paris before, I underestimated how treacherous the journey would be by coach. 

This morning, I was all aflutter, having barely slept last night due to nerves and emotion. The last week has been a whirlwind of packing and readying ourselves and the household for our extended leave of absence. Our clothes and other necessities have been sent on ahead. It did make me sad, seeing Bryan’s pianoforte and the furniture draped in white linens. For the first time, I really felt like he was gone, if that makes sense, as though I needed such a stark visual to drive it home. Honestly, I have tried not to dwell on grief, despite my black suits… I fell into such a pit of despair after the funeral that having dug and clawed my way out, I’ve been terrified of falling back in. I came close, seeing our house, my home, all covered and emptied. Mr. Fossil’s good friend, Lord Bainbridge, will be keeping an eye on the place while we are away. 

I had asked Fossil to exchange some Francs for English coinage, in order to not be in want of money upon our arrival. He gave the money to me last night, just before bed, but upon counting it I discovered the amount was thirty English pounds short. I asked Fossil about it this morning and he told me the teller at the Banque de France was most distracted, and that it was likely an honest mistake. I wish we had time to stop by the Banque and rectify the situation, but alas, we left for England so early as to render such an errand impossible. Still, seventy pounds is no small sum, and I am grateful that I had the foresight to request foreign currency before our journey.

We departed early, before sunup, after a quick breakfast, though I could not eat, as my insides felt like jelly I was so nervous. The horses were skittish once they’d been harnessed, so we left shortly thereafter. I had brought my fashion plates to look over, and tried to ask Fossil how much money was at my disposal for new clothes upon reaching London, but he just laughed and said, “Don’t worry about it, my boy, I’ve handled everything.” 

There was a time in my life when these words were, indeed, a comfort to me. But I find more and more that I  _ want  _ to worry about it. I’d like to know how much money I have, what it costs to live, what I can afford to spend. I intend to ask Lord Naboo for assistance straightaway upon reaching London. 

The carriage ride was very bumpy, and I was certain that we were halfway there by the time we stopped for the night, but Fossil told me we have at  _ least  _ nine more days! Nine days! I shall certainly expire!

When we arrived at the inn for the night, the maître d'hôtel asked Fossil why he let his daughter wear breeches, and my face must have turned twelve shades of red in my indignation. I informed him that he was speaking to the Marquis de la Forêt, not the Marquise, and I’d thank him to show me to my room immediately. Looking back, I realize I was unjustly rude, and I blame my outburst of fatigue and hunger. Happily, Fossil is in the room next door and I am on my own. 

I am still so very excited to see London, but I am a great deal more weary. I shall sleep well tonight, I am sure of it. 

Postscript: At some point along the journey, I shall have to procure some reading material, preferably something on the history and culture of England. I cannot possibly keep myself sane listening to Fossil and looking at old fashion plates for nine days. 

_ (letter from Naboo to Dennis)  _

Dear Dennis, 

I picked up Vince and his baboon of a manservant from the pier today. He was in pitiable shape--Vince, that is, not Fossil. It is clear the young Marquis is not cut out for extensive travel. Indeed, I’m not sure  _ what  _ he is cut out for. He is small of frame (considerably taller than myself, but this is no grand feat), thin, though with muscular legs shown off to advantage in his old fashioned breeches. Overall, he is completely stuck in last century as far as his looks go, and I can only blame this on Bryan Ferry. 

He had on lilac jacquard, for God’s sake. 

His hair, thankfully unpowdered, was rolled above the ears and tied back with a matching lilac ribbon… I cannot possibly put him in the way of the Ton looking the way he does. The first thing we shall have to do is buy him clothes suitable for being seen in public. Then we shall see to his hair. 

He is, to put it frankly, beautiful to look at. Almost womanish. His nose is strangely flat yet pointed, his whole face giving off a “pointy” impression, with wide, blue eyes. Not a steely blue, but a gentle blue. I can only assume these came from his mother. 

When I first beheld him, he was terribly pale, claiming seasickness, and that yammering Fossil would not give him a moment’s peace. Despite never having seen me before, he picked me out of a crowd, and proceeded to give me the biggest smile I have possibly ever seen. 

“Your Lordship?” he asked. I nodded, and he threw himself at me--in public! Like a loose-moraled woman! I threw him off and directed him to my coach, whereupon we departed for London. 

Apparently, the trip over had been disastrous. One of their horses threw a shoe, a spoke on the wheel broke… I half expected a breathless tale of highwaymen by the time he finished. Vince lacks finesse and guile, but he has a natural charm and charisma that makes any social faux pas easy to overlook. 

We enjoyed a quiet supper, after which the Marquis bathed, and has subsequently been in his room. Fossil is in the servant’s quarters, where he belongs, and seems endlessly miffed about it. 

I do not trust Fossil. He has the bright-eyed look of a weasel come upon a henhouse, if you ask me, and the young Marquis is so naive and trusting he would never suspect it if Fossil bled him dry one drop at a time. I want you to investigate him for me, if at all possible--where he’s from, how he met Bryan, any scandals I ought to know about. Or have Harrison look into him. 

I have summoned Saboo to come and assist me and the young Marquis with his finances. Harrison, you are not invited and should be kept far, far away. I will inform you when we begin to make sartorial decisions, perhaps your depravity will be of use to us then. 

I will keep you posted, sir, on how we get along. 

Yours faithfully,   
Naboo 

Postscript: I have not introduced Bollo, for I fear the Marquis would swoon and I am fresh out of smelling salts. 

Post postscript: Aside from his dark hair, he does not resemble Raymond at all. 

_ (personal diary of Vince Noir)  _

I feel languid and indolent, completely guilty of sloth, for I slept until after noon today. The journey over was  _ abhorrent,  _ and I have decided that while I could be many things, an explorer is not one of them. 

Naboo met us at the pier yesterday. I was dreadfully seasick, and emptied my stomach more than once over the side of the ship. Fossil jabbered on like an ill-trained parrot the entire time, doing nothing for my roiling insides or pounding head. I cannot express in words the relief I felt when we docked. 

Exiting the pier was crowded--so many people heading into England! We docked in Dover, but going into London itself, good Lord… I  _ love  _ it here. It is better than any of my wildest dreams and imaginings! An utter cacophony of sound, carriages rumbling, horses whinnying, merchants hawking their wares, people chattering, babies crying--I saw a baby! It was so small… having never met one before, nothing could have prepared me for how tiny and adorable it was. It is gray and cloudy here, raining intermittently, but it is gorgeous. Some people might call it dreary and overcrowded, and they are not incorrect, but there is beauty in London’s grime. For the first time in my life, I felt like I was home. 

I scanned the dock looking for a ducal coach, a coat of arms, anything to indicate Lord Naboo’s presence. We had sent word when we left France, and I did not doubt he would meet us at the appropriate time; I was correct, but I did not think to inquire as to his appearance. I perused the crowd, lightheaded though I was, and nearly sobbed in relief when I saw him. 

I cannot explain how I knew it was him, but he was there, and I just  _ knew.  _ His eyes met mine and again, it felt like coming home. 

His Lordship is so small, he nearly disappeared on the busy gangway, but his brown eyes held mine and I pushed my way through the crowd towards him. I asked if it was him. He nodded, and I fell upon him in gratitude, choking back tears. At last! He pushed me off, and I, of course, remembered that public embracing is not becoming behavior for two noblemen, and righted myself quickly. He took in my appearance and I flushed, mortified, once again. I must have looked a shambles, just coming off that horrid boat. Luckily, in the morning, I had dressed in my best suit, the lilac one, and took care to do my hair in the way Bryan taught me. 

Imagine my horror when I saw that  _ nobody  _ here is dressed like me. And their hair--the gentlemen wear it  _ cropped!  _ I had expected some cultural differences between France and England, but I nearly choked when I saw how  _ different  _ I looked. I am overcome with mortification, and must speak to Naboo with haste to rectify the situation. 

But first… I shall finish my account of my first day in London. The bed here is so comfortable, and the sheets are soft and clean. Everything smells slightly herbaceous in Naboo’s house, and the fragrance makes me feel lazy and comfortable. I never want to leave this bed. 

Where was I… ah, yes. Naboo (he insists we address each other as Vince and Naboo, foregoing titles and formalities) led me to his carriage and we boarded. He made Fossil ride atop with the footman, and I think that upset Fossil, but it is, after all, the proper thing to do. I need to try and remember that Fossil is not my only friend in the world now, and indeed, as a hired member of my household, not technically a friend at all. 

Naboo is quiet and serious, and he does not talk the way Fossil does, incessantly and without pause. He listened intently to my story of the journey over, and before long (indeed, I do not know how long, for I have been so weary that time has been rendered meaningless), we turned down a fashionable street lined with beautiful clean townhouses. They looked so neat and pretty all in a row, like little cakes in a pâtisserie window. 

Naboo’s carriage stopped in front of one, a tidy affair in white and black with well-kept hedges out front. It did strike me as odd that there was no staff visible aside from the driver and footman, but Naboo explained his butler, Mr. Bollo, was indisposed at the moment. 

The house is beautiful! Lush Oriental rugs cover the floors, and colorful, exotic tapestries ornament the walls. I was overcome with the beauty of a flowering potted plant in the foyer, colored exactly like sunset! Naboo sighed and rolled his eyes in exasperation, but how could I help myself? After all, “a thing of beauty is a joy forever!”

He led me into the formal dining room, which was also hung with gauzy scarves and tapestries. We ate on the floor like bedouins! Naboo has a low set table and such wonderfully cozy floor cushions, I did not mind it at all. The food was simple but delicious. I wish I could have talked to him for hours, but my eyes were so heavy...

Naboo noticed and politely led me to my room, which is on the second floor and has a choice view of the beautiful city out the window. His servant, Mr. Bollo, was unable to be seen but did manage to fill the clawfoot tub with hot, lavender-scented water. I have never passed a more decadent evening than I did last night, soaking away the eleven days of grime and dust from travel. I nearly fell asleep in the water, but roused myself in time to dry off and dress in clean nightclothes before I collapsed into the bed, where I remain even now.

Naboo has a few friends he wants me to meet over the next few days, all of whom will allegedly help ease me into society. I must speak to him about my hair, though… At the moment I simply want to bury myself beneath the sheets or wear a hat until I deem it suitable. 

Allegedly, a Mr. Saboo is traveling from quite a distance to help me learn the business of Marquising. I am very curious to see what this entails. I have not heard from Fossil, and though this worries me (what embarrassing or untoward behavior is he engaging in? I hope he is not pestering Naboo’s staff, especially the mysterious Mr. Bollo if he is, indeed, unwell), I am, though it shames me a little to admit it, relieved to be rid of him. When Bryan was there, it was easier to filter him out. With us being alone in the Maison, the space between us has become very close and I am afraid that, in my sudden grief and confusion, I allowed the boundaries between Master and Servant to become blurred. Hopefully Naboo will advise me on this matter as well. 

I suppose I must rouse myself. I hope the rest of my trunks arrive soon, though...on second thought, perhaps I do not. I need new clothes if I am to fit in here. I will dress as simply as I can and speak to Naboo. 

_ (later)  _

Regrettably, we did not visit any shops today. I did meet Mr. Saboo, who, it turns out, is both Naboo’s solicitor and a close friend. Saboo wears all black though he assures me he is not a man of the cloth nor in mourning; it is simply his preference. He studied me closely, as though searching my face for something. He has the look about him of someone who always knows more than he lets on, like he’s holding a winning hand at a card game and doing his best not to let anyone else at the table know. 

Saboo and Naboo did ask straight away if I had any money with me. I told them about the seventy pounds, along with the missing thirty, and they exchanged a knowing look, but did not clue me in. I am used to people talking over my head, but I was hoping to turn over a new leaf in London, so I asked Naboo if that was acceptable. He said yes, and I offered to pay him for our stay here but he refused, insisting I keep the money someplace secure. I will put the handkerchief tied up with the coins into my slipper, which is where I always keep important things. 

Saboo had me sign some papers that gave him permission to access my accounts. I had Naboo read them over, too, and explain them to me as the language was thus that I could not readily understand it. I know it is folly to so blindly trust these people, but what choice do I have? Even in my own home, in France, I did not have access to this information, though, seemingly, Fossil did. I have to admit, there is a suspicion growing in my mind towards Fossil of the most unkind nature, so I do not like to nurture it, but it remains all the same... 

Saboo, Naboo, and I passed an amiable day in each other’s company. Saboo and Naboo both tired of my incessant questions, so I tried to remind myself to be quiet. The food here is  _ excellent.  _ Even tea, which Bryan always served as a pot of bland tea and one kind of rather dry biscuit, is an extravaganza for the senses. Beautiful cakes and pastries and iced biscuits accompanied the finest, hottest tea I have ever had. That did shut me up, having a mouthful of good food and drink. Naboo claims that I need fattening up, and if eating the delicacies on offer here is the price I must pay, then consider me willing! 

Saboo and Naboo have left for the evening to go out. I wanted to accompany them, but Naboo promised me I would go out soon enough. Saboo muttered something about the place they were going to be unsuitable for someone like me, but I do not understand him. Surely if it is appropriate for Naboo, a Duke, then a Marquise would be allowed in? Unless the place is of such a high quality that a mere Marquise would not be permitted. Perhaps Saboo is a Duke, too? I’ve never heard of a solicitor-duke, but I suppose anything is possible. 

Instead, I am again in the soft bed reading a tome that Naboo left for me on managing an estate. It is drier than stale bread, but I am trying. I wonder if Naboo has anything more interesting to read. Though I slept late today, my eyes grow heavy, and I will not be long for bed. 

_ (letter from Fossil to Bainbridge) _

M’Bainbridge, 

We have arrived. The titbox, Lord Naboo, is treating me like garbage! Like a common servant! I helped raise Vincey, I deserve better than downstairs treatment! 

He had a solicitor in today. This does not bode well for our scheme, and I thought you would like to know. 

Please send sweets, the food here is rubbish. 

All my love,   
Bobby Bob Bob

_ (letter from Saboo to Dennis) _

Sire, 

I completed my duties and now legally have access to the young Marquis’s finances, assets, and records. I will review them over the next week or so and keep you posted. After consulting with Naboo, I have no doubt that young Vince has been taken like a threepenny whore by his manservant, and this behavior will not be suffered to continue. Raymond Noir’s son will be looked after; you have my word. 

As for tonight, though, Naboo and I visited that deliciously seedy opium den on the south side and my head is still swimming. Eat your heart out, Harrison. 

I will be in touch soon, as I remain 

Your obedient servant,   
Saboo

_ (letter from Dennis to Saboo and Naboo)  _

Sirs, 

You have outdone yourselves. You are to be congratulated for the promptness and thoroughness of your obedience. Send me the bill for your next night at the opium den and I will happily pay for it. 

Harrison is furious, and I am beside myself with mirth at his outrage. 

Continue doing such fine work. 

Best regards,  
Dennis, Head of the Secret Order of Shaman

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I did some really shady math to estimate the travel times. Not that anyone really cares for the accuracy, but I tried. 
> 
> The Ton refers to "the Bon Ton," a nickname for English High Society at the time. The Ton was basically the cream of the crop of British society. Vince would be welcome there, having a title himself, except he's too naive and inexperienced at this point to navigate the social niceties of high society. The Ton also enjoyed "a Season" that lasted for about six months when they would congregate in London and enjoy the City. It was a great time to make a marriage match. The rest of the year was spent at the ancestral homes or country estates. Read more about the Ton [here. ](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Ton_\(le_bon_ton\))
> 
> Vince's clothes are decidedly out of fashion, more in line with what Marie Antoinette's court might have worn rather than the fashionable clothes of Regency London. Don't worry--we'll get him sorted out. 
> 
> "A thing of beauty is a joy forever" is a line from John Keats, 1818. A bit later than this story, but work with me here. 
> 
> Vince keeping his money in his slipper is a nod to Sherlock Holmes, who didn't arrive on the scene until much, much later, but kept his cocaine in his slippers. 
> 
> And speaking of drugs, opium dens didn't gain popularity in London until much later, but like... I have to write the Shaman getting up to SOME kind of mind-altering nonsense, right?


	4. Chaperons and Limousines, Shopping for Expensive Things

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Vince finally gets to go shopping!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Classical: [Concerto for Mandolin in C Major, by Vivaldi](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=-utT-BD0obk)  
> Other: [Glamorous, by Fergie](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=1fiukG1rgqU)

_ (personal diary of Vince Noir) _

My head is positively swimming with all the beautiful sights and sounds I’ve beheld today! I want to try and write it down in as vivid detail as possible so that I never forget what a beautiful day I have had. 

Naboo took me to the shops! We went to some sort of fashionable bazaar, called The Bond Street Bazaar. Oh, the people we saw! Men and women dressed in such beautiful clothes, completely different from what Bryan had led me to believe was fashionable. I now realize that Bryan had an affinity for the pre-revolution Parisienne styles, and all my life was led to believe that they were fashionable. I have been living in the past! 

Men are not out in tights and powdered wigs, and the women have forsaken their hoops and towering coiffures, for which I am grateful. The look of fashionable ladies in London is so much more appealing, with their hair free of powder and their skin clean and blossoming, like roses and cream. English women are deliciously beautiful, and the dresses! They are so… small, is the only word I can think of to describe them! The French styles of Marie Antoinette’s court are decadent to look at, but so large and over the top, one cannot imagine being close to a woman wearing such a costume. But here, the dresses are made of sensible, beautiful fabrics, and the colors named things such as “jonquil” and “coquelicot” (poppies!)...the words themselves trip off the tongue so delightfully! The skirts are narrow, fitting closer to the body so one can almost see the outline of knees and thighs and hips beneath the dresses. Square necklines show off beautiful throats and décolletage… my head spins thinking of it! It is so easy to imagine a body pressed against my own in a dress like that, and though I know such thoughts are unbecoming a gentleman, this is my private diary. If I cannot express such thoughts here, whence can I?

That is to say  _ nothing  _ of the men’s fashions. I nearly swooned at seeing such well-cut figures. Long gone are white tights and culottes. Men, instead, wear fitted trousers which leave little to the imagination, and tailored coats with fitted, beautiful waistcoats beneath. And the  _ cravats _ \-- it is easy to imagine myself with a wardrobe full of them! They come in all sorts of fabrics, everything from muslin to lace and everything in between, and they are so artfully arranged at the front of the throat. 

It did sadden me to see that most men wore somber colors such as gray or black or navy blue, though Naboo, I noticed, has a purple coat and so I do not believe that colored coats are outside the realm of possibility. They are merely an eccentricity, not de rigueur, and, having been practically raised feral, I am nothing if not eccentric. I may commission some coats in beautiful colors, perhaps rose or emerald. As it is, Naboo made sure I was outfitted with---

I get ahead of myself. 

We broke our fast this morning at Naboo’s table on the floor. He seemed a bit worse for wear, claiming a late night with Saboo, but some strong coffee revitalized him a bit. He told me to dress in the simplest thing I had, because we were going to the fashionable shops on Bond Street! I nearly spilled my tea in my excitement. I raced upstairs back to my room and tried to sift through the meager things I had in my possession, for our trunks have still not arrived. After today, I care not. I hope a highwayman got them and has made a bit of coin off the old-fashioned things within. 

I selected a mourning suit in black--most of my clothes have been black since Bryan died, and I had begun dressing myself when Fossil’s knock came upon the door. I half expected him to be angry since I have scarcely seen him since our arrival in London, but instead he simpered and fawned all over me, brushing my coat and fussing over my hair. He informed me that his room is serviceable though he is unused to being in servant’s quarters, and that the mysterious Mr. Bollo is an ape. I told him he ought not speak ill of our host or his household, and I would not countenance such behavior. He apologized obsequiously, and I dismissed him, for I have always dressed myself.

I adjusted my fringe, brushed my hair back, and tied it in a black ribbon, hoping this would suffice. Naboo’s own hair is so shiny and black, and he wears it cut short in the style of a Roman. I must admit, reluctantly, that my eyes welled at the thought of cutting my hair. I resolved to ask Naboo what options were available to me to maintain both my hair’s length and fashionability in London. 

After taking some of the coins from their hiding place, I wandered downstairs and happened upon what is, I imagine, Naboo’s personal library. There was nothing of interest there--a few dry old tomes of history and Western civilization, manners and etiquette, maps. There was a cabinet with some very old volumes inside but it was locked. Aside from that, there was little of interest. 

I felt as though I waited for  _ hours,  _ probably due to the height of my anticipation, but I also suspect Naboo was going slowly because he was so out of sorts this morning. I wondered what he and Saboo had gotten up to last night, wondering if they were out late drinking and womanizing at the pleasure gardens, then blushed--the sordid doings of my host and his friend (and, I suppose, my solicitor) are none of my business. At long last, Naboo descended, dressed in a beautiful frock coat of deep purple, and a richly embroidered waistcoat to match. His shoes were so shiny and nearly pointed at the tips! He cut a fine, if very small, figure. He led us outside where his carriage was waiting. I had not heard it pull up, and wondered again about the mysterious Mr. Bollo, slightly envious that Fossil had allegedly met him before I had. 

Naboo instructed his driver to take us to Bond Street, and I again had the pleasure of watching London pass by outside the carriage windows. What a bustling, vivacious city it is! Although, I have the sense that the rich are very, very rich, and the poor are very, very poor. I resolved to ask Naboo about this later. There is nothing separating me from the poor except that Bryan Ferry adopted me and made me his heir. Insofar as I know, I was not born into nobility, and so I find it within myself difficult to shrug off the travails of the poor. My heart softens and weeps for them, and I am resolved to speak with Saboo, at a later time, to see if I have the funds to assist them in some way. 

We arrived at a bustling building on Bond Street, which Naboo told me is very fashionable. I believed him--every person we saw was more beautiful than the last! Once inside the building, I realized it was an indoor gallery, with different shops and stalls set up. What a genius idea! This way, people can stop in one building and shop, rather than patronizing multiple places for different things, and the drizzly weather of London does not affect the spending of money! I loved it immediately. I want to go back tomorrow. 

My senses were overwhelmed with so much noise and so many people. Luckily, Naboo seemed to know where to go. Our first stop was to see a shirtmaker, and the salesman bustled over, fawning and obsequious when he saw Naboo. Naboo ordered him to take my measurements and fit me with a wardrobe of shirts, smallclothes, nightclothes, and hosiery. The salesman clapped excitedly and set me on a strange little dais. I had to take off my coat and breeches, and I felt very embarrassed, unused as I am to being undressed in the company of strangers. The salesman had a long tape measure and called out numbers to his assistant, who wrote them down dutifully. I was so nervous, particularly when he took my inseam, a trickle of perspiration beaded and ran down my neck. The entire process was over quickly and I was happily allowed to redress. 

Naboo and the salesman bandied back words and numbers, “linen” and “silk” and “muslin” and the quantities thereof. Then Naboo reached into an inner pocket of his purple coat and withdrew an embroidered purse, and handed the man a number of coins. I felt my cheeks turn scarlet; knowing better than to address money in public, I resolved to settle up with Naboo as soon as possible. I did not expect him to pay for my new wardrobe; indeed, his hospitality for allowing Fossil and I to indefinitely live in his home has been generous enough! 

We next visited a tailor, and I spent so long choosing different fabrics for cravats and waistcoats and frock coats that Naboo fell asleep in his chair. I have ordered three coats (one dark blue, one a beautiful black velvet with a deep red lining, and one a deep forest green), six waistcoats in a rainbow of colors and fabrics, one formal suit and frock coat in the most charming shade of dove gray, and trousers to match. This should be enough for daily use, plus the gray suit for special occasions. Naboo has implied that there will be balls and parties, and I desire to be well turned out for them. 

We purchased haberdashery, shoes, a coin purse (at Naboo’s insistence, as he was horrified to learn of my handkerchief-in-the-slipper method), embroidered handkerchiefs, and a cloak for the cold, each shop dazzling me more than the last. However, it was with dread and a cold slither of nerves that we approached the barber’s stand. I am fortunate that beards are not in fashion as I do not seem capable of growing a hearty one besides. Still, Naboo insisted on a shave and asked the man to dress my hair more fashionably. I noticed that Naboo slipped him a coin and insisted on a new razor, for which I was grateful. My recent reading had educated me that barbers had not so recently parted ways with their surgeon cousins, and I was weak-kneed imagining the blood and gore… to my surprise, the shop was very clean, and Naboo’s insistence on clean water and a fresh blade comforted me, however little. 

I tried to govern my nerves as the burly barber laid me back in his chair and applied a hot, warm towel to my face, the purpose of which, he said, was to soften the skin and hair. I might have relaxed and enjoyed this part had my nerves not been so close to shattering. Next he lathered a cream on my face, and I nearly fainted with fear as I felt the cold blade of the razor against my throat. Luckily, I need not have worried, as I have little beard to speak of and the entire process was over, happily, very quickly. 

The barber untied my hair, ran a comb through it a bit roughly, then stood, assessing. I tried very hard to muster the courage to speak up, lest he butchered me and I ended up looking like Naboo. Clearing my throat, I dared to ask, “What options are there? Only, I do not want it shorn very close. I have always worn it long and am rather attached to it.” 

The barber gave a bark of a laugh and left to fetch a few sketches of different hairstyles. This soothed me greatly, knowing that I would have some say in the future of my favorite feature. There were quite a few styles inspired by Romans, with names like Titus, Caesar, and Brutus, which I recognized as Naboo’s style. There were others: a Bedford crop (far too short), a Cherubim (which seemed better suited to hair curlier than my own), something called a Frightened Owl (which caused me to giggle for nearly a solid minute, displeasing the barber, I think), and a couple of windswept styles which, I was told, were meant to mimic the look of having just arrived home from driving a Phaeton or engaging in a hunt. 

Of all these options, the Frightened Owl seemed the longest, but I must have looked uncertain for Naboo spoke up, “Can’t he wear it long and tied back? I’ve seen some soldiers wear it that way.” 

The barber appraised me for a moment, then nodded. “That’s a style mostly worn on the continent, granted, but I could trim it a bit, help it lay smoother. He does have a… well, a pretty face,” he admitted, then got to work trimming the ends of my hair. He applied some sort of cream called pomade to smooth the fringe away from my forehead, which I admit I did not care for at all, as, in my opinion, my forehead is far too large and high to go exposed, but I did not want to be any more contrary than I had been already, for not acquiescing to a more fashionable or London-appropriate hairstyle. He then spent an inordinate amount of time on my side whiskers, shaping them elegantly. 

When he was through, the barber allowed me to look in the mirror, and I was surprised with how similar I looked, sans the fringe. It was a good look--clean and simple. Perhaps in time I will work up the nerve for a Frightened Owl, but until then, I will simply have to let my fringe grow out and be grateful for the long hair I still have. 

Naboo paid the barber, and I admit I was pleased to leave his shop. Naboo insisted on refreshment, and there was a small cafe within the bazaar where we had delicious tea and brioche. So focused was I on watching the people milling about that I barely tasted the food. 

Our last stop was the chemist so I could stock up on necessary items. I could have whiled away hours sampling the soaps and colognes! I knew Naboo was tired, so I hastened to select some simple but finely milled soap, pomade like the barber had used, ribbons in colors to match my new coats, and a rosewater face tonic that I believe is intended for ladies, but I care not. The women in London have such clear, beautiful, roses-and-cream skin that I  _ long  _ to look like them! Naboo added a bottle with a yellow label called “Albany Toilet Water” to our purchase, and I discovered later that it is meant to be dabbed at the throat and temples for a hint of scent. It does smell delicious--like citrus and bergamot and cleanliness. I was so moved by this gift, I had to remind myself that hugging was not permissible behavior in public, and resolved, again, to discuss the matters of finance with Naboo as soon as we were back at Grosvenor Square. 

On our way out, there was a bookseller with a small cart. I begged for Naboo to let me browse only for a moment and selected a volume called  _ Evelina: Or, the History of a Young Lady's Entrance Into the World.  _ It is, of course, a girls’ book, but the title appealed to me as I am also entering the world. I purchased it and hope to learn something from Miss Evelina. 

When we arrived home, Naboo retired to his room claiming a headache, and I thought it wise to do the same. My purchases should arrive within the next few days, and I am so very excited about it all. As it is, I can barely keep from smelling the Albany, or running the satiny-smooth new hair ribbons through my fingers. I imagine we shall sup later, if Naboo is recovered. I can ask him about the money then. Until such time, I shall read about Evelina. 

Postcript: I have yet to see Mr. Bollo. For that matter, I have not seen much of Mr. Fossil, either. His absence worries me… he is the sort of person who, if not kept busy, will run to mischief. Bryan always said he took him on out of charity, and I did not question him, for I was also a charitable case of Bryan Ferry’s. Still… no good can come of Fossil’s idle hands. 

_ (letter from Fossil to Bainbridge)  _

HOLY DEVIL CAKES, M’BAINBRIDGE, THE BUTLER HERE IS A LITERAL GORILLA… AS IN A NAKED LITTLE SQUASHED UP HAIRY MAN! 

If there is a hell, then I am surely in it and this Naboo is the devil. I’ve not been permitted to see Vincey in days, with the so-called “Mr. Bollo” (as in, the hairy long-armed actual goddamn MONKEY that runs the house!) claiming that he doesn’t need my services.

I have been listening in a little, of course. The solicitor, Mr. Saboo… he’s bad news, Sir. He will bring our plan down around our heads! He seems cold and heartless and very clever, so we’ll need to be careful. Please tell me you have stopped siphoning off the Marquis’s money to fund the printing presses, just for now. Too many forged bills will rouse suspicion, and I fear that this Saboo will be able to track us down. Then we’d be in real trouble. 

I await your instructions, and remain, unhappy though faithfully yours,   
Bob Fossil

  
_ (letter from Bainbridge to Fossil)  _

Fossil,

Your intelligence is invaluable to me. I have stopped using the Marquis’s funds as you suggested, at least until this so-called solicitor stops poking about. As it is, we’ve already funneled nearly a quarter of the Marquis’s fortune through our little forgery venture, growing our own coffers quite nicely. We can hold off for a time until this solicitor meets with a dead end and backs off. 

There is some dark magic afoot there, Fossil, if the Duke has a tamed ape among his household. Be careful. 

Continue on as you are. Keep an ear out for interesting intel and keep me informed. Your deplorable treatment is part of the scheme--bear it up as best you can. Consider yourself on a secret mission. It is of utmost importance that you maintain the facade of Noir’s faithful servant. 

Yours,   
Bainbridge 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I spent about four days researching the various aspects of this chapter. It's totally fascinating to me, so if you like that stuff too, read on!
> 
> The Bond Street Bazaar was a real place, sometimes called The Western Exchange. It was an early Regency-era shopping mall. It differed from other "bazaars" of the time in that it catered namely to gentlemen rather than ladies or both. The world of Regency shopping is fascinating (at least to a nerd like me)... read more about it [here.](http://hibiscus-sinensis.com/regency/tailors.htm)
> 
> Most gentlemen at the time would have had a line of credit at shops, especially titled ones like Naboo and Vince. However, Naboo uses coins... probably due to him being so _mysterious_. Vince, of course, just arrived and hasn't had time to establish any lines of credit, which is probably good since he'd likely shop himself into a hole.
> 
> Men's hairdressing during the Regency era was an utterly interesting research topic. According to [this article,](https://dralun.wordpress.com/2015/03/01/zounds-how-you-scrape-being-shaved-in-georgian-britain/) "This was also a time when barbers were in a period of transition. After splitting from the barber-surgeons’ company in 1745 to create their own occupational identity, the shift away from medicine was also marked by a move towards specialisation in hair dressing." This is why Vince was so nervous, because for a long time, surgeons and barbers were the same! Yikes! Not only that, but many barbers used the same blades over and over, and cleaned them in the same dirty water, leading to lots of blood-borne infections. Naboo's insistence on a clean blade is a very good thing!
> 
> Check out some popular Regency hairstyles for men [here.](http://sarahs-history-place.blogspot.com/2017/03/regency-male-hairstyles.html)
> 
> [Albany Cologne](https://www.drharris.co.uk/product/albany-cologne?pa_volume=100ml)  
> is very real and still available for purchase (and has been since the 1790s!). 
> 
> There was, generally, a lack of organized crime in the Regency era... it was virtually crimeless aside from petty things like pick-pocketing. However, the introduction of paper bills meant that there was a new industry of money forgery that came about.
> 
> Also shout out again to the very real novel, _Evelina_ by Fanny Burney. If any of you have read it, you'll recognize that I basically stole a LOT of plot elements (and some scenes directly, but in future chapters), so I owe a lot to that novel. Thanks, Ms. Burney!


	5. Keep Pouring It Down

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Vince receives an education from Saboo and Naboo, as Fossil's duplicity is brought to light. Naboo suggests an introduction to a certain friend of his, a Duke from the North...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Classical: [Battalia, by Biber](https://www.youtube.com/watch?time_continue=288&v=_8YN26FOTGU&feature=emb_logo)
> 
> Other: [Open, by The Cure](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=X981MVGabmE)

_ (personal diary of Vince Noir) _

The morning light makes my head feel as though nails are being hammered through it. 

Last night, I supped with Naboo and Saboo, and after dinner they served a drink, the name of which I can barely pronounce much less attempt to write. Having never heard of it and not wanting to appear rude to my host, I had some. It is, admittedly, delicious--herby, warm on the throat as it goes down, with a light aftertaste of hay, but also with a sweetness like honey that makes it delightfully easy to drink. It was this ease of drinking it that led to my downfall, as drunkenness was upon me before I even realized it. I merely thought I was feeling giddy with the good food and drink and company. It wasn’t until the room started to spin and I attempted to stand (“attempted” being the operative word, as I stumbled more than once) that I realized how ape-drunk I was. Naboo must have helped me to my bed, for I admit I have no recollection of how I got here. 

Bryan always served sherry with dinner, and I had one small glass with each meal, but I had no idea how strong some of the other liquors were. I lost count of how much of the dram-buoy I consumed, not imagining that three small tumblers would send me over so top heavy. I think it was three. At least, at my last count it was three, though Saboo and Naboo did goad me on and I’m certain I had more than that.

Oh God, I shall be ill.    
  


I have been sick. I never wish to drink dram-buoy again. 

I was so drunk last night that I swear I saw an actual  _ ape  _ in the corridor outside Naboo’s room. I must away to sleep. Focusing on writing is stabbing the insides of my eyes. 

_ (letter from Naboo to Saboo) _

We can’t allow Vince out into the world being as ignorant of liquor as he is. Should we arrange a lesson for him? 

-N

_ (letter from Saboo to Naboo)  _

You are absolutely right, Vince made a proper cake of himself last night. His ignorance, while charming, would be his downfall among the Ton. Imagine someone unsavory slipping him two whiskeys… he’d be under the tables and willing to do anything for anyone in his own naivety. Yes, we must educate him. Do  not invite Harrison. We can teach the boy about whiskeys and wines, but opium and shisha must be kept away from him. For now at least. 

-S

_ (personal diary of Vince Noir)  _

The ape in the corridor was no drunken delusion. The mysterious Mr. Bollo, as it turns out, is a civilized gorilla. Naboo made the introduction this morning and I admit, I swooned straight away as soon as the great ape  _ spoke to me.  _

I was revived with smelling salts, and nearly screamed again in terror until Naboo explained that Bollo had returned to the downstairs. He then told me that the Secret Society, of which he, Saboo, and Bollo are part, is in some way magical, and this is how Naboo has a speaking gorilla as his manservant. He admitted that prior to me, he has had very few houseguests for this reason, but also because he prefers his solitude. 

Naboo also told me something very unexpected, or rather, equally as unexpected as “my manservant is some sort of magical talking simian.” He said that my  _ father  _ was also a member of this Secret Society! I unleashed a veritable maelstrom of questions upon him, but he deflected most of them, remaining infuriatingly taciturn. I did learn that I allegedly look nothing like him, which saddens me. This means I must look like my wayward French mother, the one who so broke my father’s heart as to lead to his demise. Naboo did not tell me much, only that my father was an English Duke, a member of their Secret Society, and a good man. This is the first real news I have ever had of my father, and somewhat alleviates my lifelong suspicion that I may be a bastard. I am not ashamed to admit that when, once again in the safety of my room, I wept. 

My mind races. I do not know if I am being taken for a fool by Naboo and Saboo, with their strange tales of magic and Secret Societies and my father, or if the world is simply far stranger than I first assumed.

_ (later) _

Naboo bought me a colorful houseplant as an apology for getting me so drunk that I was ill, and for shocking me so badly with Mr. Bollo’s presence, and for the unceremonious way in which he revealed he knew my father. It is lovely and green and I believe the windowsill in my room will afford it the perfect amount of light to thrive. 

I tried to repay Naboo for our shopping excursion, but he refused. He said once Saboo has finished reviewing my finances, we can discuss things then. He insisted I keep the little money I have in my new coin purse and keep it on my person. I will do precisely this. 

At this moment, I feel that Naboo is trustworthy. I quite like him, and even though his world is even stranger than Bryan Ferry’s, I feel well-cared for and feel as though he has my best interests at heart. He could have robbed me blind otherwise.   
  


_ (letter from Naboo to Dennis)  _

Sire, 

Vince and I had an unfortunate incident with Bob Fossil this evening. Vince has been begging me to allow him to apologize to Bollo, since he fainted like a woman upon their first meeting. I decided that tonight was as good a night as any, and led him downstairs. I could very easily have called Bollo upstairs (as you know, we share hashish in the water pipe most nights anyway), but decided this was a good opportunity to show Vince how the downstairs of a nobleman's house  _ ought  _ to be run. 

This was my mistake. As you know, we are currently employing a handful of staff to keep up the appearance of normalcy: one scullery maid, one cook, a driver, a footman, a gardener, and Bollo. The staff are being paid generously to look the other way at Bollo, and thus far it has worked wonderfully. 

I showed Vince the kitchen, where the cook and the maid were cleaning up from the evening meal, and Bollo was reviewing the next day’s menu. Vince made a flowery and ridiculous apology and I’m sure Bollo and I will have a good laugh over it later. All moral situations being thus resolved, I showed Vince the kitchen garden outside, the laundry, and then the servant’s quarters, thinking he would like to know where that idiot, Bob Fossil, was dwelling. 

Imagine my shock when we arrived at Fossil’s quarters to find him gambling with _ gold coins _ in the company of my driver, footman, and gardener. Where do you suppose a mere domestic like Bob Fossil gets  _ gold guineas?  _ Forsooth, sire, he was gambling  _ thirty-two guineas!  _ I ask you, what member of a household staff has that kind of money? A good domestic might make thirty guineas a year (I can imagine Ferry being generous and paying Fossil up to sixty pounds per annum, but that would still account for  _ half  _ his yearly income!), but even then, they are paid in lesser coins… and of course, the amount of coins was precisely the amount Vince mentioned to me upon his arrival as having mysteriously gone missing. I knew right away that poor Vince had been robbed, confirming my suspicions, but for his part, the young Maquis stood and looked as though he might burst into tears. 

My ire rose and I dismissed my own staff back to their rooms. Vince looked pale and mortified, as though this was somehow his fault, and again, I would loathe him for being such a namby-pamby if he wasn’t so damnably earnest and kind. His ignorance is entirely Ferry’s fault, not his own.

Stepping inside Fossil’s quarters, I closed the door behind Vince and I and inquired directly where Fossil got this kind of money. 

“Ferry paid good,” he said, and I choked at his ill grammar  _ and  _ his audacious lies. 

“Tell the truth, Fossil,” I commanded, not letting any inflection or human kindness into my voice. “Ferry did not pay you with gold English guineas. He might have paid you with Francs but not gold guineas, so again: where did you come by this money?”

“I converted my money when we got here!” he whined, and I wanted to kick him. 

“And you decided that tonight you live large and gamble away half of your yearly income or more?” His watery eyes filled with hatred, and Vince gasped beside me. 

“Ferry never paid salaries with coins,” said the Marquis softly. “He deposited your pay directly into the Banque de France, per your request.”

“How do you know that?” spat Fossil, then realized he’d given up information. 

“You stole from Vince,” I said, not accusingly, merely stating fact. Fossil’s face went red and he burst into tears. 

What is wrong with people on the continent? Is this some form of Latin-esque hysteria? I cannot fathom how anyone can muster the energy for so frequent and so impassioned displays of emotion, yet here are Fossil and Vince, both on the verge of multiple breakdowns per day.

“Fossil, stop,” said Vince, weariness in his voice. I was surprised at this--Vince seems to have boundless energy and enthusiasm. To hear such a tone as this--that world-weary, exhausted tone of a parent with an unruly child--surprised me. 

Vince turned to me. “If Fossil stole from me, it was out of necessity. I admit, I did not even inquire as to his financial situation before we departed. It was negligent of me not to do so, and I’m sure Fossil just needed some money to assist in his needs, especially as the luggage has not arrived yet and--”

“He’s gambling, Vince,” I reminded him. “This isn’t a man who’s out wandering the streets in need of food and shelter.” 

Vince flushed and became quiet. “Give the money back to your master, Fossil,” I commanded. Fossil wiped his nose on his sleeve (vomitous behavior), and swept the coins up, handing them back to Vince. 

“I’m sorry, Vincey,” he whined. Something in me snapped hearing a domestic and a common thief address Vince in such an infantile manner. 

“You will address your master as ‘my lord’ or ‘Marquis’ while under my roof, is that clear, Mr. Fossil?”

“Yes.” 

“Yes, what?”

“Yes, m’lord,” he replied sullenly. He looked down at the floor and I knew we were finished. I ushered Vince back upstairs and into the library, and ordered Bollo to bring him some strong tea, which the Marquis drank while looking depressed and remaining silent. 

“That is an offense worthy of termination,” I said quietly. Vince nodded. “Would you like me to send him packing?”

Vince looked like he was considering it, then answered, “I can’t do that, Naboo. Fossil has been a part of my life for as long as I can remember, and…” he choked a bit, looking like he might weep. “I’ve already lost Bryan. I don’t want to lose him, too.” 

There is nothing I can do about this, Sire. Vince’s point is valid--Fossil’s familiarity is the only thing he has at this time, in this new land. I would have sent the miscreant into the streets, but it is not my place to do so, nor to pressure Vince. If he is to learn to manage his own estate, then he must be allowed to manage it. I nodded, and let him know that the affair was ended, and we’d speak no more of it. 

This confirms all our suspicions, however. Fossil  _ is  _ stealing from Vince, and if he so wantonly throws around thirty gold coins, I can only imagine there is far more of the Ferry fortune fattening his coffers. I hope this incident will scare him into behaving, at least for a while. 

I remain, your servant,   
Naboo

_ (personal diary of Vince Noir) _

Last night we caught Fossil gambling with money that I  _ know  _ he must have stolen out of my own money, as it amounted to precisely the amount I was short when we left France. I am utterly heartbroken. I want to dismiss him because I know that is the proper thing a gentleman would do, but I cannot… my emotions get the better of me. I don’t particularly  _ like  _ Fossil, but he has been a part of my family my whole life. I cannot bear the thought of cutting free this last tie I have to France and to Bryan and my childhood… what am I to do?

I spent the better part of the day in a stormy mood. Naboo tried to cheer me up by taking me for a ride through Regent’s Park, which was lovely but all the colors were muted today through my lenses of sadness. The only positive thing to come of this is that it proves my intuitive feeling that Naboo has my best interest at heart. He was ready to sack Fossil on my behalf for his indiscretion (it is, in fact, a crime…), and I feel his indignation was righteous. I am comforted knowing that I have put my faith in someone who will look out for me, and do hope Saboo is making progress.    
  


_ (personal diary of Vince Noir) _

Our trunks arrived today… of course they did, after I have already purchased a new wardrobe. I shall ask Naboo if my old pieces, which are still serviceable but outdated, might be repurposed somehow. I was glad to have the rest of my books, and my drawing materials. Indeed, I have seen so much I wish to sketch I doubt my hands shall ever be clean of charcoal again!

I spoke again with Naboo regarding my finances last night. I asked how Saboo was coming along, and offered again to repay him for his generosity. He assured me that money is no object for him, and I need not feel any shame or embarrassment, that he considers it a privilege to care for the son of his late friend, and that all ignorance and mistakes that are mine are not my fault, but Ferry’s for not better educating me. He said Saboo has been working on sorting out my estate but has not had any luck thus far in accessing a few necessary pieces of information. This unsettles me. 

I insisted on giving Naboo ten of the guineas, and promised that I would pay him back someday for his kindness and generosity, but he brushed aside my declarations. I am grateful, but still a bit uncomfortable about this situation. Still, there is nothing to be done for it at this time. I must simply trust that Naboo and Saboo are doing their best and will instruct me when the time comes.

_ Evelina  _ is a most entertaining book, but she is so vapid. Most of her problems could have been solved by asking questions or reading a book. I asked Naboo to please get a newspaper, that I might read it and start to learn the goings-on in this town, so as to avoid Evelina’s ignorant mistakes. He wrinkled his nose but said he would tell Mr. Bollo to have a paper ready tomorrow morning. 

I resolved, after much sleeplessness, to sack Fossil. I will do so this evening, after asking Naboo how best to do it. 

_ (later) _

I sacked Fossil. Naboo told me to be direct and firm and let him go. I did give him some money because I could not turn him loose in a foreign country on his own, even though English is his native tongue and not French. 

He looked at me tragically, then with such hatred that it frightened me. He is gone now, or so Bollo says. 

Naboo gave me some wine to try and make me feel better, but now I just feel tired and sad. 

_ (personal diary of Vince Noir)  _

Tonighht we sammpledd a numer of difffrent drinkss withh Sabooo, who inssttsed that I needed to know this infrmaton if I wantd to be in socieity. I am properrly shot in the neck but dont belieiev I shall be sick. I disliike whisky becaause it is so hot goinig down, but I do like rum punnch and brandy, especeially cherrry brandy. Its so sweeet and delciisous! All the otherrs are to strong and taste like medcine going down.    
  


_ (letter from Naboo to Dennis) _

Sire, 

Poor Vince is as inexperienced and sensitive as a maiden. What the deuce were we thinking, leaving him in the care of Bryan Ferry? He is a delicate little flower of a thing, and I would hate him if not for  ~~ my connection with him  ~~ his inherent likability.

Have you learned anything about Fossil? The Marquis is such a milksop that it would not surprise me in the least if Fossil had stolen every penny of Ferry’s fortune. Vince is far too trusting, and I can only be glad that we got to him when we did. He has terminated Fossil’s employment, but I would still like to know anything relevant about the man, and if he has indeed been harming Vince in any way. 

I worry about putting Vince into society, but know that he should be allowed better company than myself and Saboo. I believe my neighbor, Lord Moon, would be a good influence on him, though Lord Moon is so insufferably dull that I might expire just having him in the house. 

Vince has been asking many questions about his father. Please advise on how you wish me to proceed. 

-N

_ (letter from Dennis to Naboo) _

Naboo, 

I have not enjoyed success on my investigations of Mr. Fossil thus far (aside from the fact that he was born in the American colonies, but this is hardly relevant), but your last letter was, as Mr. Harrison put it, an outrage. That Fossil has blatantly  _ robbed  _ Vince… the situation is more dire than we imagined. Keep an eye on Fossil and put Vince in the way of Lord Moon with haste, that he might have a proper nobleman to look up to. 

Your dedication to the cause is admirable, and I commend you for so readily undertaking such a difficult task. I am sorry that it has proven more challenging than we initially thought… Bryan Ferry, having a modicum of forest magic, seemed like the best choice as an adoptive parent for Vince. We thought that being raised in a somewhat magical household yet remaining on Earth would be the best possible solution after Noir died. I see now that we should have been more involved with his education, and I regret our inaction on this part. 

Again, you are to be commended. The boy is indeed lucky to have you looking out for him. Saboo wrote and told me that he is experiencing some difficulties in getting into the young Marquis’s accounts in France, and may need to go there in person. Continue persevering, Naboo. Introduce him to Lord Moon. Keep him occupied with the bright gaiety of London. 

I apologize, yet again, that the topic of parentage seems to be an obsession with Vince, but this is understandable. Tell him what you like about his father. Keep his mother’s identity a secret. The last thing we need is for the dandyish Marquis to get an overdeveloped sense of justice and go barging into the House of Dior with delusions of grandeur. 

Keep up the good work, Naboo. And please, for the love of God, encode your next message. 

Sincerely,   
Dennis, Head of the Secret Order of Shaman of Xooberon

_ (personal diary of Vince Noir)  _

Four nights ago was the brandy night. Two nights ago, Saboo and Naboo educated me on wine, of which family sherry is a part, though allegedly sherry is a woman’s drink. I prefer wine over the other drinks as it, at least, tastes good going down. 

I feel as though I’ve spent the better part of the week drunk and rather dislike it. It is, at first, a pleasant sensation, but that quickly gives way to disorientation and illness, and I cannot find it within myself to appreciate the pleasing sensations without a modicum of panic. Bryan always instilled in me the necessity of being aware of one’s surroundings, and how can one do that if one is inebriated? Still, at least now I know which drinks I can safely consume and which I should avoid, and in which amounts. In a backwards way, I am grateful that Naboo undertook this education in his own house, where I was both safe and could not make a fool of myself in public. If someone had given me cherry brandy without this education, I could easily have drunk the entire bottle and that would have ended disastrously.

There is a friend of Naboo’s that I am to meet, a Duke of Leeds, Lord Howard Moon. Naboo and Saboo insult him dreadfully, but maintain that, while he is plain to look at and insufferably boring, he is a proper gentleman and, lacking any family and indeed, any friends, would be willing to “train me up” in how to behave like a member of the peerage. Though his ducal seat is in Leeds, he is in London for the season, and I am so very anxious to make his acquaintance! I asked if we were the same age, and Lord Moon is older than I am, but only by a few years. This is so exciting to me, as I have never really enjoyed the company of friends my own age. 

Saboo wrote tonight and told us that he is taking an extended leave of absence to France. I am certain this is somehow related to me and my estate, but I dare not risk the impertinence of asking for details. I hope things are well… I try not to be anxious, but there is so much happening, and so much I do not know. I want to know more about my father, my estate, the state of my own affairs… and answers to all of these problems are being withheld from me. 

Still, Naboo has been so kind to me. He treats me the way I imagine brothers would treat one another, and so I swallow my curiosity and try to enjoy the everyday moments. Bryan always said that we ought to “eat and drink, for tomorrow we die,” meaning one should enjoy the moment in which one finds oneself. I am attempting to do this, rather than dwelling on the past and future. 

Mr. Bollo’s presence still alarms me whenever I happen to see him, which is gratefully not often. I am resolved to try and be more at ease around him. 

_ Letter from Fossil to Bainbridge _

Dear M’Bainbridge, 

That skinny little whelp SACKED ME. I am stranded in London, all alone and defenseless, what am I to do? Please send me money and a ticket back to France. I am scared. I’m currently squatting in Naboo’s garden shed, which is empty. I don’t even think he really lives here in London. The whole thing is just a front to take Vince and his delicious money away from us! 

I am so unhappy. Please tell me what to do. 

Yours,   
Bobby

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The first time Vince gets drunk, Naboo has served Drambuie, an herby Scotch whisky.
> 
> Top heavy, ape-drunk, shot in the neck = all Regency slang for being drunk  
> Made a cake of oneself = Regency slang for making a fool of oneself
> 
> I couldn't help myself... The Cure was absolutely going to show up in this "soundtrack" at some point.


	6. The Night Starts Here

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Vince attends an assembly and an opera, and meets Lord Howard Moon.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Classical:  
> The Assembly: [Chi Passa Per'sta Strada, by Yo-Yo Ma ](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=FZeeCUjcZb8)  
> The Opera: [Tristes Apprets Pales Flambeaux, by Jean Philippe Rameau](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=joJ37aNBdnE)
> 
> Other: [The Night Starts Here, by Stars](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=FgtAx_L3l9I)

_(personal diary of Vince Noir)_

Tonight has been most wondrous! I must put it down before going to sleep. 

There was an assembly tonight being held by a Lord Leroy Fauntleroy, who is, according to Naboo, something of a rakehell and a dandy but “wealthier than God,” and a bastion of London’s most fashionable set. Naboo, therefore, decided we ought to attend. 

I dressed in my new suit, the dove gray, and paired it with a rose-colored waistcoat, and a lacy ascot. Naboo scoffed at me and said I was a dandy and a fop, but I care not. I love those beautiful clothes, and if that makes me a dandy, so be it! I tied my hair back with a matching gray ribbon and put on the elegant hat we bought to match the suit. I felt very well turned out, and hoped that my lack of experience could be camouflaged with good clothes and good manners. 

Readily I admit I was nervous, but Naboo was at my side, and though he does not move in fashionable circles, I knew I was safe with him. We entered Lord Fauntleroy’s hall and beheld a veritable confection of people--women in jewel-colored dresses, men in their tall hats and lush waistcoats. It was startlingly beautiful, the room all lit with candles beyond count and scented with vases of freshly cut flowers in crystal bowls. Truly, a sight to behold! I smelled each of the blooms until Naboo scolded me for acting like a girl, and we made Lord Fauntleroy’s acquaintance. He did not seem pleased to see Naboo, but took a shine to me right away. Lord Fauntleroy’s suit was the color of the sky after a storm, that pale, bright blue, and… I admit, I am not educated in the fashion of London, but I am certain that he had on rouge and paint around his eyes! Imagine! 

As soon as the introductions had been made, Lord Fauntleroy tried to extricate me from Naboo’s side, but happily, Naboo seemed ready for that eventuality. He made some polite excuse and we took a turn about the room together, as Lord Fauntleroy was distracted by a lovely set of twins dressed in matching persimmon dresses. 

“He’s affable, but he’s a rake,” Naboo informed me. “Loose morals, loose women… he is pretty to look at, Vince, but he’d put you in the way of unsavory people, or worse, bleed you dry at whist and not think twice about it.” I nodded, grateful for this advice. “You’re young, attractive, new to London, and _rich,_ ” whispered Naboo. “You must be always on your guard.” 

A waiter passed by with glasses of champagne, and Naboo nodded, indicating that I should take one. I helped myself and sipped it slowly, having learned last week the consequences of doing otherwise. The champagne tasted like bitter wine, only with so many bubbles as tickled my nose! I do not particularly enjoy it, but it was, for lack of a better word, interesting. Naboo sipped his own champagne as we walked the room. Another waiter passed and I placed my half-drunk flute on his tray, and begged Naboo to introduce me to someone or to let me dance. Naboo promised he would, in time, and left me to go find refreshments.

I stayed off to the side of the room and kept my eye on the dancing, for while I was educated by Bryan on all the basic ballroom dances, I worried that my knowledge, like my clothes had been, would be woefully outdated. There were a few dances I did not know, but for the most parts, the steps were familiar. I was going to find Naboo and ask him who I should bother for a dance, when in walked, it is no exaggeration to say, the most beguiling person upon whom I have ever laid eyes.

He was tall, taller probably than anyone else in the room, with broad shoulders and an easy, loping gait. His clothes were unremarkable, brown, mostly, which is my _least_ favorite color, but they fit well and were of good quality. His cravat was a cream muslin, and I am a little ashamed to admit, but my fingers _itched_ to untie it. And his hair… oh, what glorious curls! I can see now why powder and wigs fell out of favor. It was so that men like _him_ can have those dark, glorious curls untamed and on display for the world to see. I have never been so overcome with desire in all my _life_ as I was beholding this enchanting stranger. 

His eyes took in the room haughtily as though he did not very much wish to be there. Indeed, he was so somber and stern, he looked as though merely walking into the room was a punishment to be endured rather than a party to enjoy. 

I must have been staring at him like a fish caught out of water, for Naboo returned and told me to shut my mouth. Upon following my gaze, he remarked casually, “Oh, there’s Howard. Can’t believe he came out for this.” 

Imagine my shock at discovering that _this_ was the Duke of Leeds! Oh, my knees felt weak! Naboo wanted to introduce me to this handsome stranger, and _he_ was to be the one to educate and help me ease into society! A bubble of excitement welled up inside me. 

I watched as more than one young lady and her mother attempted to make conversation or secure a dance with Lord Moon, but he dismissed them all with a quizzical brow and a withering glance. Eventually, his eyes landed upon Naboo (it always takes time to find Naboo in a crowd, so small is his stature) and he began making his way towards us. 

My mouth went dry and I berated myself for handing back the champagne so quickly. What was I supposed to do? What would I say? He drew closer and closer and my panic rose, and then, Naboo stepped in and handled the introductions with aplomb. 

“Howard,” he said, giving a half-smile and a bow to the Duke. Lord Moon gave an elegant bow in return and quirked an eyebrow, such a look of sin and mischief in his eyes. I have never been so attracted to anyone, or affected by anything--not flowers, nor poetry, nor even art--as I have been by Lord Howard Moon. Even now, I feel warm thinking of him… 

“This is my guest, the Marquis de la Forêt, Vince Noir,” Naboo introduced me. “And this is his Lordship, Howard Moon, Duke of Leeds.” We exchanged bows, and I did my best to emulate Howard’s, straight backed and minimal, not the overdrawn, sweeping bow of the French courts that Bryan taught me. 

“How do you do, your Grace?” I asked. I was rewarded with a mirthless bark of laughter. 

“No need to stand on ceremony, Marquis,” replied Lord Moon, his voice rich and velvety. “I shall call you Vince, you shall call me Howard, and we’ll have no more of this titled nonsense.” 

I nodded, grateful. “As you wish, erm, Howard,” I replied. His name fell like diamonds off my tongue, and my mouth couldn’t wait to taste it again. 

“To answer your question, I do as well as can be expected in a vulgar assembly such as this,” Howard replied with a sniff. Next, he did the most peculiar thing--he extracted a small, beautifully-enameled box from his coat pocket, extracted a pinchful of powder, and inhaled it, thence wiping his nose with an expensive-looking handkerchief. The entire process was so enthralling, his long fingers drawing attention to his lovely face, and I know I must have stared like a guppy, but how could I help myself? 

I asked Naboo about it later and he told me this is called taking snuff and is very popular among the nobility. Naboo had failed to educate me on this ritual, as he does not take snuff himself (he said he prefers a water pipe, of which I am ignorant, but I imagine it is merely a pipe you can use in the water). He said he could procure some so I could try it. I cannot imagine it is something I would enjoy, but I could certainly try, particularly if it would give me something in common with Lord Moon. With Howard. 

“Do you not enjoy assemblies, then?” I asked. 

He snorted derisively. “I hate them,” he admitted. “Assemblies are little more than a meat market disguised under ribbon and lace, with busybody mothers offering up their daughters like sacrifices, not to gods, but to randy, gouty men who will no doubt make their lives a living hell as soon as the ink dries on the marriage license.” 

“You are not married then, your Grace?” I inquired. 

“Howard,” he corrected, then added, “Decidedly not.” He continued surveying the room with that haughty expression, his strong jaw raised in condescension. He seemed so bitter and averse to the party, which up until this point I had found lovely, I could not help but wonder if some tragedy had befallen him to make him so disdainful and world-weary. I realized, at that moment, that we were complete opposites. I am so wide-eyed with wonder, ignorant and amazed by everything, and he seems the sort of man who would not bat an eye if a man walked on water before him.

Naboo excused himself again, and I wanted to throttle him for leaving me alone with Howard. I had no idea what to say, any instinctual charm and charisma I possess abandoned in favor of tongue-twisted nervousness. Luckily, after a pause, Howard commenced speaking again. 

“Naboo wrote to me a few days ago and informed me of your situation,” he said. 

I couldn’t help but ask, “What situation is that, your gr--Howard?”

Howard looked at me, those small dark eyes seeing straight into me. “Merely that you were recently left alone in the world and had never been in society, nor in company with your peers, nor, indeed, even to England.” 

My mouth was so dry, all I could do was nod. 

Howard nodded back, then returned his gaze to the room. “Well, I am sorry that you shall have to suffer my company, as I am told it is not desirable, but as you have few alternatives…” 

“It’s perfect,” I blurted out, interrupting rudely, and I could feel myself blush with shame over the faux pas. 

Howard turned to me again and smiled, a mere grin, but it shot heat through my entire body. I knew when I returned to Naboo’s, I would spend the night attempting to sketch that smirk until I perfected it, so I could remember it always. 

Naboo returned carrying three flutes of champagne. Gratefully, I drank, my parched throat rejoicing in finally having lubrication. Howard and Naboo sipped theirs and together we stood, observing the party before us. It was in this moment that I realized I was not there to really partake in the ball, merely to observe it. We were like three shadows, seeing but unseen. I felt as though I might be tested on my observations later, so I tried very hard to catalogue every detail, yet kept getting distracted by Howard’s presence, the height of him beside me, the faint smell of tobacco and sandalwood that accompanied him… 

We departed before midnight and Howard is to come by sometime tomorrow! I cannot sleep. I will begin my sketches and hopefully the familiarity of charcoal between my fingers will lull me to rest. 

_(personal diary of Vince Noir)_

Life is not real; I am living in a dream!

Howard came by today, as promised. We sat in Naboo’s dining room on the floor cushions, and I had to stifle my laughter, seeing Howard try to cramp up his long limbs onto the small pillows. We enjoyed tea and cakes, and Howard asked me about the ball last night: if I knew the dances, if anyone in particular stood out to me (I longed to answer “You!” but did not), if I knew how to politely accept or decline an invitation to dance… there is so much to know. Once we had finished our refreshment, Naboo took his leave and left us in the parlour. 

Howard took it upon himself to instruct me in how to ask a lady for a dance, and then informed me of all the rules that follow the inquiry. It has a lot to do with whether she accepts or refuses, and I may not ask the same lady for more than two dances of an evening or it would appear rude. There are so many rules… I cannot possibly learn them all. 

I asked if gentlemen ever danced together, and Howard sputtered uncomfortably. This saddened me, for obvious reasons, but he revealed such relationships are, in fact, _illegal_! How had Bryan never told me this? He knew for years that I preferred the company of ladies and gentlemen equally, but never told me this! He merely said my business was my own and he accepted me regardless. I am flabbergasted, and left with much to think about. 

After the discussion of various points of etiquette, Howard informed me there was to be a dinner party with Lord Fauntleroy at the end of the week, and I might attend as his guest to observe and practice the finer points of table etiquette. 

I hate feeling so very much like an uneducated child, but I suppose I rather am. 

I must have looked sullen, for Howard then got a strange look on his face and inhaled a pinch of snuff, then asked if Naboo and I would like to accompany him to the opera! I was so excited, I nearly leapt from my chair. I said I would ask Naboo but that, for my part, I would love to attend. Howard nodded, and said he had a whole box reserved to himself and that Naboo and I would be welcome to join him. I imagined people watching the opera from inside lavishly decorated, human-sized snuffboxes. I thanked Howard profusely, and he told me that I needed to stop being so womanish in my expression of emotions. I apologized and tried to calm myself. 

Howard offered me the snuffbox, and I admitted to him that I did not know what to do. He instructed me, told me to take a pinch of it between my thumb and forefinger, and inhale. I did so, but ended up with a horrid choking sensation at the back of my throat and sneezed for nearly ten minutes solid. Howard laughed and handed me his handkerchief, which I used, while he quipped about the size of my nose. I might have been embarrassed except that _his laugh_ \--his teeth are pointy, and if I thought his smirk was arousing, a full smile is… I never understood, before, why anyone would go to war over Helen of Troy, but I find it within myself to be more understanding now. I might go into battle to defend Howard’s throaty, lupine laugh. 

Naboo rejoined us smelling of that herby fragrance that permeates the house, and asked what we were up to. Howard recounted my failed attempt at snuff and reassured me that I would get the hang of it. I have no desire to, and told him as much, and then asked Naboo if we might accompany Howard to the opera. He acquiesced, and Howard departed, saying he would meet us at his box in His Majesty’s Theater at 8. 

I am sitting in the library, dressed in my grey suit, and waiting for Naboo. I shall write more when we return! 

_(later)_

Oh, my. There is no form of art on _earth_ higher than the opera. 

We rode in Naboo’s carriage and arrived at the opera house, which was a palace of such opulence that nothing could have prepared me for it! A massive crystal chandelier hung in the foyer, plush, red carpets lined the floor, and oil paintings that took up the entirety of their walls greeted us upon entering. Everything was gilded in gold and positively shimmered in the candlelight. And that is to say _nothing_ of the _people--_ dressing for the opera is another matter entirely from dressing for a ball. Indeed, I felt positively shabby in my new grey dress suit. I noticed Naboo had on another purple coat, even fancier than the one he wore to Lord Fauntleroy’s the other night, and even he managed a lace cravat with a mysterious-looking gem pinned to the front of his throat. The women had furs and diamonds, the gentlemen tall hats and shoes so shiny they reflected their decadent surroundings in the leather. 

I asked Naboo if I might get an outfit for the opera, and he pretended to be put-out by my request but acceded that yes, if I was going to move in Lord Moon’s circles, I’d need better clothing. More shopping! 

Once I had finished marveling, Naboo led me up one side of the grand split staircase, where we entered a small, curtained alcove. This, as it turns out, is the box Howard spoke of (I was a little disappointed it was not an _actual_ box, but my wonderment of our view of the stage won out over any dissatisfaction I may have felt). As we entered, we saw Howard, splendidly dressed in a black suit, complete with white gloves and a cane. He looked so utterly distinguished, I felt my head grow light and wished I had some of Naboo’s smelling salts. Howard rose to greet us, smiling warmly, and I thanked him again for the invitation. 

“Think nothing of it, Vince,” he replied, purring my name in such a way as stirred my loins. I will not die happy unless I hear him say my name again, as often as I can manage it. “I have this box all to myself and rarely bother using it. If you enjoy it, it’s yours for the season.” I blushed at his generosity. 

Why is everyone so kind to me?

I sat down quickly, for as I have mentioned before, the form-fitting trousers that are in fashion do nothing to conceal certain aspects of a man’s anatomy, and mine was rapidly betraying me. The chairs were red plush velvet and so comfortable. Howard had ordered claret for us, and I longed to down mine and reach that point of being happily a trifle disguised, but my throat clenched at the memory of the Drambuie and so I sipped politely, hoping that the show would start soon so I would not have to speak, and could, in the darkness, observe Howard. 

The opera we saw was called “Castor et Pollux,” and I was beyond overjoyed to find it was sung in French! Although, I am told, that knowing French in London is nothing special, it did warm my heart to hear French spoken, or rather sung, again. Bryan and I always spoke equal parts French and English, and I hadn’t realized how much I missed the language until hearing it again. 

Perhaps it was this unforeseen measure of homesickness, or the pent-up emotion over Fossil’s betrayal and dismissal, or Ferry’s death, or how badly I wanted Howard but did not know how to proceed, but there was an aria in the second act, “Tristes Apprêts, Pâles Flambeaux,” and it moved me to tears. I wept in that dark theater, with Howard on my right and Naboo on my left, for it felt as though a dam had been broken. The mournful words and the soprano’s soaring voice combined to tear a small hole in my heart through which tears poured forth. I excused myself as soon as the aria was over, and wiped my eyes with my new handkerchief outside Howard’s box. 

Howard came to check on me not long after. He did not say a word, merely put a hand on my shoulder, and meeting my eyes, nodded. Such gentlemanly kindness! 

It was during this tender moment that a sneering voice whispered, “Found a new bit of Haymarket ware, Moon?” We turned and beheld a man with cropped hair like Titus in a plain blue suit leering at us with a smug expression. Howard started toward him and the man vanished, cackling into the darkened theater. 

“Who was that?” I asked. 

“Lance Dior,” Howard spat. “An abysmal blemish on the earth. Pay him no mind.” 

“What did he mean?”

“‘Haymarket ware’ is a crass term for a prostitute,” Howard answered. I gasped, for he just said the word outright! 

“I… that is, I don’t look like--”

Howard smiled at me. “You look nothing like a rentboy, Vince. Can I get you something to drink?” I shook my head, pleased to hear him say my name again, and I straightened as he held open the curtain to his box, where we resumed watching the rest of the opera. 

Opera is the highest form of art, of this I am convinced. Everything--every step across the stage, every costume, every player, every _note--_ was utter perfection. I cannot conceive of how Howard would allow his box to go unused, and begged him to allow us the privilege of using it again. He smiled again (that _smile!)_ and promised we would see as many operas as I desired.

There is a gentleman’s retiring room where fashionable people gather after the opera, but as neither Howard nor Naboo much care for society, we all decided to return to Naboo’s for a nightcap. This turned out to be whisky, which I did not care for a single bit, but it was also an opportunity for Howard to smoke a pipe which it turns out I _do_ care for. The way his cheeks hollow as he inhales, the way the smoke caresses his lips as he exhales, his fine, dexterous fingers filling the bowl… I shall require a coat cut longer in the front if I am to spend much more time with Howard. 

Bollo brought me a glass of cherry brandy, which was very kind of him. Howard did not seem alarmed by Bollo so I can only assume they have met before. Howard and Naboo are so different, but they are alike in their antisocial, anti-societal tendencies, and I can, therefore, see why they make good company for one another. Howard departed much too soon, for I would have happily listened to him speak in that dulcet voice of his for hours. He has invited me for the evening meal tomorrow at his town house, so that I may practice before the dinner at Lord Fauntleroy’s.

My head is spinning, and I am not sure if it is the result of the brandy, or the cry I had, or merely being around Howard. How can I sleep when there is so much fire inside me?

_(even later)_

I took matters in hand. I shall rest well now. 

_Letter from Fossil to Bainbridge, addressed from Cheapside, London_

Dear Darling Dixon, 

This is my new address. Thank you for sending over money. If I need to do spy work on Vince, I shall stay overnight in the garden shed at Naboo’s, but even though this place is nothing more than a hovel, it is all I can afford. We must get Vince back to France soon, for I hate it here! 

Thank you for your help. Please send instructions. 

Love love love,   
Bob xoxox

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The Dukedom of Leeds was a real title of the English peerage until 1964. The actual Duke of Leeds during this time wasn't named Howard, obviously, so we're just going to use our imaginations and pretend (my favorite part of fanfiction tbh). 
> 
> Leroy having the surname "Fauntleroy" is a nod to Francis Hodgson Burnett's _Little Lord Fauntleroy_ which wouldn't be published until 1886, but I thought it was too funny to have his name be "Leroy Fauntleroy."
> 
> Cosmetics were not worn in England at this time--unless you were a prostitute or an actor/actress, but not by ordinary or titled women and certainly not by men! Leroy's use of eyeliner suggests he doesn't care for social norms, and might be considered a bad influence. 
> 
> Whist is a card game that was popular during this time, and often involved gambling. Gaming and gambling were an easy way for men to lose their entire fortunes in a single night. You can read more about it [here.](https://harlequinblog.com/2011/02/gambling-in-regency-england/)
> 
> Although it is in France, I based my idea of the opera house on the [Opera Garnier,](https://www.operadeparis.fr/en/visits/palais-garnier)  
> which is unbelievably lavish. The actual theatre they would have visited was called His Majesty's Theatre (or the Haymarket Opera House) and was located in Haymarket, London. It is no longer standing, sadly, but it has a long and storied past--I suggest looking into it if you're interested! 
> 
> "A trifle disguised" is Regency slang for tipsy.  
> "Haymarket ware" is Regency slang for a prostitute.


	7. You Give Me Feelings That I Adore

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The plot thickens as Saboo reaches France and finds things are definitely not okay at Vince's estate. Sparks start to fly as Vince spends some time with Howard getting new clothes and learning the intricacies of table etiquette.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Classical: [Serenade for Strings in E Minor, by Dvorak ](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=bRrP3ESM6sQ)  
> Other: [Overprotected, by Britney Spears](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=wwQ7X1Pjpvs)  
> [Bubbly, by Colbie Callait](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=36pt6qpLNSE)

_ (letter from Bainbridge to Fossil) _

Fossil, 

Some brute (I can only assume the solicitor, Saboo) removed me forcibly from the Maison du Ferry. I am on the run and will inform you of my new address once I have one. 

I am formulating a plot to get Vince back to France. Continue doing as you are--spying from a distance. 

Adieu,  
Bainbridge

_ (properly encoded letter from Saboo to Dennis) _

Sire, 

I arrived at the Maison du Ferry today and walked in through the open front door, uninvited, to find some pig-bastard living like a lord with fine food, drink, and women coating every surface of the house, despite it being broad daylight. 

I unleashed the wrath of the Crunch upon them, and cleared that house like Christ did the temple-turned-marketplace. 

I did not catch the villain’s name, but I could have sworn one of the women cried out and called him “Bainbridge.” If it is  _ the same Bainbridge  _ from twenty years ago, I will hunt him down and show him the meaning of the Crunch! The man-who-may-be-Bainbridge fled in terror, the coward.

I am writing to ask if Tony Harrison’s company might be spared, for he might yet be of use to me. There is much work to do in ratting out Fossil and the-man-who-would-be-Bainbridge, as I am sure they are working in tandem. We must make a compelling court case against them. If no such case can be compiled, however, I suggest we take justice into our own hands, off the earth and on Xooberon. These villains must pay for the terrible treachery they enacted on both Raymond and Vince, and furthermore,  _ I just don’t like them.  _

Awaiting your reply. I go to the Banque de France tomorrow to sort out the young Marquis’s finances once and for all. Please inform Naboo that vengeance is swiftly coming. 

Your obedient servant,   
Saboo

( _ letter from Tony Harrison to Saboo) _

Saboo, 

You slag! I  _ knew  _ you’d beg for the company of the H-Man before too long! I will be there on the morrow! 

Lovingly,   
Sir Tony Ian Harrison 

_ (letter from Saboo to Naboo, encoded in their own personal cipher)  _

Naboo, 

Vince’s situation is worse than we feared. The money that Bryan Ferry left him as his inheritance is half gone, all withdrawn in small increments twice a week by Ferry’s so-called “trusted servant,” one Bob Fossil. I informed the bankers that Fossil is a petty thief and criminal, showing off my credentials as a fancy London solicitor, and they handed over everything immediately. 

It is amazing what Earth people are willing to do in the name of the Law. 

I reviewed Vince’s accounts, and as aforementioned, more than half of his inheritance is gone. I am enraged on his behalf, but also saddened. I am sorry that this crime has befallen Raymond’s son, for he was a good Shaman and a good friend and best of all, good at cards. It is bad enough that Vince was bereft of him so early; worse, still, that Ferry has also departed and left Vince susceptible to these thieves and swindlers.

I am in the process of tracing where this money has gone. Of yet, I have not accessed Fossil’s accounts, but can probably forge the necessary papers to do so. Tony Harrison is alongside me, assisting. He’s an ass, but he does have a gift for strategy, and may help form a master plan for exacting revenge, both for Vince and your father. 

I will keep you informed. Burn this letter after reading. 

Your friend,    
Saboo

Postscript: do not tell Vince yet, not until things have been put to rights. I do not want him to faint or worse, cry. What an utter pansy he is. We did wrong not to raise him on Xooberon. Still, despite his shortcomings, I am loath to admit it, but I like him. 

_ (letter from Naboo to Dennis) _

Sire,

I’m certain Saboo has been keeping you abreast of the developments in France. This treachery runs deeper than I thought, and I find myself overcome with regret. How could I have left Vince with Bryan Ferry? I know that I was young and unwise in the ways of Earth twenty years ago, but I ought to have brought him back to London or Xooberon with me. I could have taught him the ways of our people… sensitives have been known to make great Shaman, after all. Damnation! I feel an utter fool, and though I am not wont to suffer emotions often, of late mine are so black and oppressive I can barely stand it. 

I will be at the dens tonight with Bollo. Vince will be well-looked after if we are not home until morning, as he is with Lord Moon learning table manners because apparently Ferry failed even at this small task. Each of Ferry’s failures feels as though they are my own. Guilt is unpleasant. I need to get un-sober as quickly as possible. 

-Naboo

_ (personal diary of Vince Noir)  _

I feel as though nothing in the world could possibly go wrong! 

Lord Moon arrived at Naboo’s home earlier than expected, and told me we were going to order more clothes. Imagine my excitement--shopping  _ and  _ time with Lord Howard! I ran upstairs, grabbed my purse and changed into my green coat, and met him back downstairs. We rode to Bond Street in his carriage, emblazoned with the ducal crest on the side. I felt positively  _ regal,  _ stepping out of that carriage with Lord Howard beside me. 

We did not go into the bazaar this time; rather, Howard took me to a shop called Corncrake’s Emporium, where we were summarily greeted by an affable blind old man. This man, Lester Corncrake, stocks the finest fabrics in London, or so Howard told me, and despite his lack of sight has an instinct for creating the most beautiful bespoke gentlemen’s garments. Old Mr. Corncrake greeted Howard warmly, and the two spent quite some time in discussing music. I felt embarrassed, as Bryan tried to teach me to play pianoforte but I never had any skill for it.  _ Of course _ Howard is a skilled musician, in addition to all his other shining qualities. Has the man no faults?

(Indeed, I am not sure if I want to  _ be  _ Howard or be  _ with  _ him.)

Eventually, Mr. Corncrake looked directly at me with his unseeing eyes and asked, “And who is your friend, your grace?”

“This,” said Howard, leading me forward by the shoulder, “is the young Vincent Noir, Marquis de la Forêt, recently come over from France.” 

“Oh, well, ooh-la-la,” said Mr. Corncrake. I smiled and shook his hand, upon which he remarked I was fine-boned as a woman. I do so tire of being compared to a woman! What must Howard think?

Corncrake led us to a counter, behind which were bolts of cloth that outnumber the sand grains in the desert! I exaggerate, but only slightly. He must have heard my intake of breath, because Corncrake then launched into a speech about how far superior English shops must be to their French counterparts, to elicit such a reaction. He knew the location and shade of each bolt, despite his inability to see! I deduced he must not have been born blind, to know the colors, but thought it improper to ask. Howard helped me select a fabric of the most charming blue, one that he thinks will offset my eyes. 

Corncrake said the shade was called “cornflower,” and I think it the most charming name for “blue” I have ever heard. 

Next, he took my measurements. He had me stand before him, and unlike the man on Bond Street, did not use a tape measure. He asked me if I was comfortable being touched, and I answered yes, though I was terribly nervous. He had me stand with my arms out, as though my body were forming a capital “T,” and he set to work  _ feeling  _ my measurements. 

I have to admit, I was equal parts amazed at his ability--I knew that, for as mad as it seemed, this method  _ must  _ work, for Howard looked so fine at the opera--and horrified. I am not used to being touched, for Bryan always thought it very effeminate to be physically affectionate with one another, and I have had no lover nor close companions nor even paid company, except that one time but it doesn’t count. I stood as still as I could, trying not to be uncomfortable, as this perfect stranger felt his way around my body. There was absolutely nothing untoward about the affair, but I could not help but feel, in a small way, violated. 

Then, as I cast my gaze around the shop, wishing for this part of the process to be concluded, I caught Howard’s eyes. I found him staring right at me, looking directly into my eyes as Corncrake flitted his hands up and down my arms and over my shoulders. I could see Howard’s breath hitch as Corncrake ran his hands from my hips up my back, and… I do not believe I am imagining it when I say that Howard looked positively  _ ravenous.  _ He licked his lips and stepped closer, his eyes drifting down to Corncrake’s hands, then back to my eyes. I worried my lower lip between my teeth nervously, not wanting to break eye contact. I am ashamed to admit it even now, but the entire experience--someone else’s hands on my body while Howard watched, blatantly, openly, hungrily--it aroused me to the point of distraction. I could feel myself growing hard and was completely unable to do anything to hide it, laid out as I was for Howard to see. 

Howard continued to watch unabashedly as Corncrake ran practiced hands around my wrists and hands, measuring the distance from wrist to forearm and forearm to shoulder. Howard’s fingers curled involuntarily, and I inhaled sharply as Corncrake felt up my leg, and Howard smirked. Corncrake heard and asked if I was ticklish to which I responded a breathless “yes,” and for the first time broke eye contact with Howard. My eyes trailed down Howard’s long, beautiful body and… I have mentioned before that the cutaway coats that are in fashion conceal nothing, and I thrilled with excitement to see that Lord Moon was as affected by this encounter as I was. Catching my eyes on him, he quickly turned away to look out the shop window and I groaned audibly, not wishing for this, the single most sensual moment  _ of my life  _ to be over. Corncrake promised he’d be done soon, and true to his word, finished “measuring” shortly thereafter. 

Corncrake returned behind the counter to scratch out measurements for his shop assistants to look at later, and promised the new suit would be ready within five days. I paid him for the fabric, with the agreement that I would pay for the labor upon receipt of the suit. Howard had not moved from the window, and I went and stood next to him when my business was concluded. He looked down on me, back to his rigid, mirthless self, and asked if I was ready to retire back to his home. I nodded, and he said goodbye to Corncrake as we stepped back into his magnificent carriage. 

We spoke little on the carriage ride to Howard’s home, each of us, I imagine, lost in our thoughts and trying to calm ourselves. 

Howard’s home in London is also in Grosvenor Square, not at all far from Naboo’s. The facade of his home is equally tidy, but the inside is a stark contrast to Naboo’s. Where Naboo has decorated with what is, to my ignorant mind, an Eastern flavor, Howard’s home is staunchly English. There are no tapestries or rich rugs to mute the click of heels on the polished marble floor. The walls are bare, and this saddened me, for walls exist not only to provide shelter, but to house art! I resolved to ask Howard about this as our friendship deepened. 

He led me into a study, a small, dark-ish room which was lined in books. Imagine my pleasure! I was distracted immediately by the shelves and shelves of volumes, with titles both familiar and foreign. Howard blustered a bit when I asked if he had read this book or that, and I got the sense that he was a gentleman who owned books because it is the custom, not particularly because he enjoyed reading. A small fire flickered in the fireplace, though this was unnecessary given how pleasant the day was outside. There was a desk, too, regal looking and stacked high with papers, and I realized that if I was ever going to really come into my inheritance and manage Bryan Ferry’s estate, I would require a desk like this, too. 

Howard saw me admiring it, and told me something terribly boring about its origin. “Do you find there is a lot of work to be done?” I asked. 

“There is always work to be done,” he replied, leafing through some of the papers. “Managing an estate is a lot of work, especially one the size of Leeds.” He showed me a paper written in untidy scrawl. “The work of a nobleman is not merely to go out and wear expensive clothes and have a beautiful home, nor is it his sole duty to make a suitable match and produce heirs. A nobleman has been given a solemn duty, an inherited duty, to protect and care for the land that is his. This includes the people who live there. Do you know the population of Leeds, Vince?”

I shook my head. 

“There are fifty thousand people all told living in Leeds. In a small way, I am responsible for each of them. That’s what dukes do, what any titled nobleman does. He watches over the land he has been made steward of, to the best of his ability, for his Sovereign.” He tapped the stack of papers again. “These are the inquiries and requests of some of my tenants. I will answer them as best I can.” 

I felt embarrassed. I had never once asked Bryan what exactly being a Marquis entailed. I knew that we had a very small marquisate, and being located on the edge of the Orleans Forest, knew we did not have many tenants. Bryan seldom mentioned the tenants, nor did I know any exact numbers, and had never heard of nobility being spoken of as a God-given right. 

I toed the marble floor with my boot, feeling so utterly small and stupid. What would someone, a Duke, as important as Howard Moon want with a feral, uneducated child like me?

I felt the warm weight of his hand on my shoulder and met his eyes. Again, he did not speak, not at first. “I take it you have not learned these parts of your duty,” he said softly. I shook my head, not trusting myself to speak around the lump in my throat. He nodded in reply, and stalked over to the fire. My shoulder missed the warmth of his hand. “Do not fret, young Vince,” he said. “There is still time to learn what you must know. Naboo is… he is eccentric, but his heart is good. Lucky is the man who may call him a friend.” 

“His friend, Saboo, is my solicitor,” I offered up as a pathetic contribution to the conversation. Howard turned to me, a mischievous grin playing across his face. 

“Good!” he said, emphatically. “That man is terrifying, which in a solicitor, is a wondrous quality. If there’s a rat to be sniffed out, he is your best man.” 

Shame poured over me like bathwater. “Did… did Naboo tell you that I have a rat?” 

Howard looked abashed. I turned on my heel and stalked out into the foyer again, sullen, angry, _furious_ that Naboo had aired my dirty laundry to Lord Howard. All I wanted was to impress him, yet how could I when Naboo laid bare all my many faults? I felt tears pricking my eyes and wanted nothing more than to run back to Naboo’s and fling myself on my bed and have a good cry and speak to no one. The artless walls mocked me, and I wanted to run, to do  _ anything  _ physical to force all the emotions out of me. 

I heard the click of Howard’s shoes on the floor. 

“What are you thinking?”

I remained silent. 

“What are you thinking?” he repeated, his voice soft and low, as though he was coaxing a reticent animal out of hiding. I turned and saw his face, those kind dark eyes, and… 

“You wish to know what I think?” My temper flared and I unleashed a torrent upon poor unsuspecting Howard. “I think it is damnably unfair that everyone knows more about my own affairs than I do. I think it’s abhorrent that, apparently, my manservant and solicitor have access to Bryan Ferry’s money and accounts, and I do not. How is that fair? It isn’t for lack of desire, simply… a lack of opportunity. Nobody has taught me bloody  _ anything,  _ Howard! I don’t know how to run an estate, I don’t know how much money I have in the world, I didn’t even know that drinking Drambuie will make one vomit if taken to excess. How was I allowed this far in life knowing so terribly little? I know nothing of ladies or clothing or balls, or how to be a Marquis, and I am  _ furious  _ with everyone for treating me like a child, even though that’s  _ precisely  _ what I deserve! Isn’t it, Howard?” 

I ranted until my breath was ragged. I knew my face was an unflattering shade of red, and I could feel tears leaking out of my eyes. Then I felt exhausted and ashamed, for having had such a tantrum in front of Lord Howard. 

To my surprise, Howard merely nodded, listening to every word. Of a sudden, he led me by the elbow to the washroom. He rang a bell and a maid appeared with a jug of lukewarm water which she poured into the basin. Howard handed me a clean beige flannel, and urged me to clean up and join him in the study when I was refreshed. 

I was utterly perplexed, but also so rung out, like a dirty rag, that I did as I was told. I splashed my face and dried off, finding that the sensation of the water on my skin both brought me back to my body and refreshed me. 

Howard is wise. And kind. 

I left the flannel on the basin, and vainly wished for a looking glass that I might correct myself, certain I looked a fright. I did the best I could, smoothing back my hair and straightening my cravat, before I rejoined Howard in the study. 

I did not make eye contact initially, still feeling embarrassed about my outburst. In the interim, Howard had ordered tea, and the fragrant aroma of it stirred me further out of my black mood. 

“Vince,” said Howard kindly, and I looked up and saw him observing me. “You have been dealt what is, to tell the truth, a bloody miserable hand.” I could not help myself. Hearing him swear like that… it made me want to laugh. I smiled just a bit and was rewarded with that beguiling smirk. I sipped the tea, and felt the rest of my anger rise up and drift away with the steam. Howard continued, “The fact that you are here, in London, and have solicited the help of good people shows you for what you are: a wise young man who is doing his best to right the wrongs that have been done to him.” 

“You mean that, Howard?” I asked, surprised at how small my own voice sounded. 

“I do,” he said. “You are handling the myriad tragedies of your life remarkably well. Do not fret, little man. You’ll learn all you need to know soon. In the meantime,” he placed his own teacup back on the small table, “we can go over English table etiquette, and I’m certain you will charm Lord Fauntleroy and all his guests.” 

I do not give a fig for Fauntleroy or anyone else. I want to impress Howard. And I thrilled at hearing him call me “little man,” a nickname which would have been demeaning coming from anyone else. 

Howard led me into the formal dining room and I found that he has a long table and chairs, not the low table and floor cushions that Naboo favors. The table was dressed in clean, white linen trimmed in lace, and set with beautiful silver and candelabras. A vase of fresh white roses graced the center of the table, and before I could stop myself, my fingers had moved of their own volition to stroke the velvety petals. 

“Do you enjoy horticulture?” Howard asked as he seated himself. 

“I have never successfully grown anything myself,” I admitted, “but I do so love flowers and plants. I think… it must be because I grew up on the forest’s edge, but I have a deep appreciation for things that grow.” 

Howard grinned that soft, closed-lipped smile, and I stood, unsure where to seat myself. “Sit beside me, Vince,” he said, and I did, happy to be told what to do. “We shall have to go to the Vauxhall Pleasure Gardens someday. The flowers there would delight you.” 

Howard tucked his chair under the table, continuing before I could ask him about the alluring idea of pleasure gardens. “At Lord Fauntleroy’s, we shall file in by order of rank. Leroy will be first, followed likely by me on his right, and any other boring dukes on his left. We will not know until we’re there who is in attendance, but I will direct you.” I nodded, trying to catalogue this information. “Although, Lord Fauntleroy may alternate his guests evenly by male and female, so as to ensure that each of the ladies has a gentleman on her side to serve her.” 

It is all so very much to remember. 

A liveried footman brought out the meal to us, which included a white soup, and a venison pie. Howard explained that Lord Faunteroy would not serve a pie, most likely opting for something more visually appealing to dress his table, but that in the comfort of his own home, Howard was at liberty to serve what he wanted. He then went on to explain the number of dishes served and in what order, the etiquette of the various utensils, which dishes I will be expected to serve to myself or the ladies and which will be served by staff… it is exhausting and my head spins trying to recall the details. 

I did ask Howard if he had an etiquette book I could borrow, and he said he was sure there was one in the library I could take. I am grateful, as I want to review all of this information before Friday, and retain things much better when I have the opportunity to copy notes myself. 

“Would you please tell me more about Vauxhall Garden?” I asked as I sipped my broth, my curiosity piqued as I very much liked the idea of seeing a garden full of the different plants and flowers that grew in England. 

Howard smirked around a mouthful of pie. “It is, as the name suggests, a garden, made for the pleasure of anyone who can pay the price of admission.” 

“And there are flowers?”

“The air positively reeks of them,” Howard sniffed. “I will accompany you, of course. Some lurk in the gardens with… less than pure motives.” 

I felt my eyes widen. London was such a strange place! 

“When it comes to Friday evening, I suggest you listen more than you speak,” Howard said. “You will, of course, be an item of curiosity to the other guests, but given your precarious position, it would behoove you to remain as vague on the details of your life as is possible.” 

“Do you not trust Lord Fauntleroy?”

“No, not particularly” replied Howard. “I certainly do not trust the people with whom he keeps company, either. I’m sure they mean you no harm. They are attracted by shiny, beautiful things and shiny, beautiful people. But… I just…” 

I waited, watching Howard as he sorted his words out. 

“You have already suffered at the hands of unscrupulous people, and I would like to prevent such an occurrence from happening again,” he said, quickly, as though the words worried him. 

I admit, I was overcome with such warmth and affection that I could not help the instinct to reach my hand for his as it rested upon the table. I was inordinately pleased that he did not yank his hand away, but rather squeezed back and directed a small smirk down at the tablecloth. 

“I do not know what I have done to deserve such worthy friends,” I said softly, “but I thank you.” Howard looked up and met my eyes. I do not know for how much longer we may have sat, but the door opened and footmen came to remove the pie and bring out a fish dish and some cauliflower. We jolted apart and Howard drained his wine

We spent the rest of the meal discussing proper topics of conversation to have at table. Howard did compliment me on my table manners, which he said were excellent, and I was pleased that Bryan had managed to succeed in this one avenue. 

We finished the meal with a small tart which was so crumbly and sweet, my mouth waters even now remembering it. It was, by this time, dark outside and Howard led us back to the study, which was lit with candles and the fire still roaring in the hearth. He selected a book for me called  _ The Gentleman and Lady’s Companion,  _ which is full of information about etiquette and behavior, and even dances! I am so grateful to have this volume and resolve to read it as soon as I can. 

Howard poured us each a glass of amber liquid and we sat before the fire in squashy, comfortable chairs. I took a sip, not wanting to appear even more ignorant than I had done already this evening. It was sweet, rich, and earthy, unlike any wine I’d ever had. Howard informed me it was called Madeira, and refilled my glass as he took out his pipe. I watched, mesmerised, as he filled and smoked it, draining my glass to wet my dried mouth. I knew if he refilled my glass again, my painfully low tolerance to alcohol would tip me into slight inebriation, but I did not care. Howard stared into the fire, his inscrutable face wreathed in smoke, and I stared at him, admiring him like a painting. Not wanting to appear rude, I opened the book in my lap and started scanning the pages. 

“You mentioned earlier,” Howard said suddenly, then cleared his throat as though he was embarrassed. He drained his own glass and refilled both his and mine, and drank nearly half of his own before starting again. “That is. Erm.” 

I rearranged myself, drawing my feet up under me in the chair, and leaned towards him, longing to reach out and touch him but reminding myself not to. “It’s all right, Howard,” I said, surprised by the gravel in my own voice. 

He faced me, looking intently into my eyes, and I know it is foolishness to say, but I really thought, for but a moment, that he might lean in and kiss me. This, I am certain, was simply the vain hope of infatuation, but every fiber of my being thrummed in tune to his vibrations. The moment was cut short when he finally spat out, “You mentioned earlier that you know nothing of women.” 

He drained his glass again and refilled it, his hands trembling ever so slightly. I was embarrassed, and I emptied my glass as well, refusing a refill and turning to stare at the fire, hopeful the flames would hide the heat in my own cheeks. 

“I… that is,” stammered Howard, “it is absolutely none of my business, only… I just want to make sure you are  _ educated  _ in, erm, all of that.” 

Suddenly, a bubble popped inside my head and I chuckled to myself. The chuckle grew into a fit of laughter, and I laughed so hard that tears welled in the corners of my eyes. I felt so stupid but looked over and saw Howard laughing, too, and we were lost for minutes in an endless circle of laughter. At last, we calmed down, and Howard emptied his glass again. 

“Howard,” I said between giggles. “I might be woefully ignorant of many things, but  _ that  _ I know of.” 

He ran a hand through those delectable curls and exhaled, “Thank Christ for that.” We laughed a bit more. 

“Honestly, Bryan Ferry taught me all about that. He had some book from India detailing all the ways that  _ that  _ could be done. And,” I reached for my glass to take a sip then remembered it was empty. Howard gave me the bottle and I filled it halfway. “When I turned eighteen, Bryan paid a courtesan from Versailles to come and  _ educate  _ me.” I drank. 

Howard leaned forward, fascination etching itself across his brow. “Did he?”

“Oh yes,” I said, swirling the Madeira in my glass, enthralled with how prettily the golden liquid caught the firelight. “Only… well…” 

“What happened, Vince?” Howard asked seriously. 

I giggled into my lap. “Well, I couldn’t… you know.” I gave Howard a knowing look, hoping he’d intuit my unspoken meaning. He cocked a brow at me, and I started laughing again. “We ended up talking the whole night about fashion and hairstyles at court.”

Howard barked a laugh, and he tilted his head back as he chuckled, his teeth flashing and his Adam’s apple dancing across his throat. He was so painfully beautiful, jovial and uninhibited like this. I rearranged the book on my lap to hide my burgeoning erection, warmth from the wine and from desire coursing through me. 

“Oh, Vince,” he sighed. So aroused was I that I nearly moaned aloud at the sound of my name escaping so breathily from his mouth. “Oh, Vince,” he repeated. “That is a fantastic story. I don’t suggest you repeat it in company, but I’ll be damned if that’s not the hardest I’ve laughed in some time.” 

His words were slurred slightly around the edges, and I knew that I was also a little drunk. Not enough to be ill, but enough that everything felt slightly muzzy and hazy and wonderful. We stared at each other for a while, no pressure to make small talk and no awkwardness between us, and I knew then precisely what it is I want out of life: to spend time with Howard, without obligation or the societal pressures of etiquette. Just him and I, laughing and sitting by the fire. 

Minutes or hours passed, I know not. Howard offered for me to stay with him as Naboo had informed him that he might not be home tonight, and I asked him if he knew where Naboo went. He said he didn’t, but that the man was an enigma and kept his own company and counsel, and that was the end of that. I told Howard that I was capable of staying home alone of an evening, but he brushed me off and insisted I stay. I admit, I did not argue the point too strongly.

Howard led me up the stairs to a spare room which was tidy and serviceable. He lingered at the door for a moment, smelling like smoke and looking down on me with those warm eyes, and again, I felt as though he might kiss me. I wanted to tangle my hands in his curly hair and drag that sinful mouth to my own and request the education I’d been cheated of that night with Ferry’s courtesan, but I did not. Instead, we said goodnight and I promptly fell asleep. We broke our fast this morning, and his footman brought me back to Naboo’s. 

My head aches a little today from the wine, but it positively spins with thoughts of Howard. 

Postscript: Naboo and Bollo are home, but a note was pinned to my door this morning requesting they not be disturbed. I will read today, and think about Howard, and try my best to prepare myself for Lord Fauntleroy’s dinner. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The Kama Sutra would not be published in English until 1883, but, I mean... Bryan Ferry is friends with the Shaman. It's definitely possible that he got an advanced readers' copy. ;) 
> 
> You can read about the intricacies of Regency meals [here.](https://janeaustensworld.wordpress.com/2010/07/05/supper-at-the-netherfield-ball-pride-and-prejudice/) It's a lot to take in! 
> 
> Also, I am REALLY hecking proud of myself for limiting Tony Harrison to ONE letter throughout this entire thing! Those of you who know me know what a level of self-restraint this took.


	8. Wherever You Are (Raymond's Tale)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Vince's history is revealed via letters from his late father.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Classical: [The Moonlight Sonata, by Beethoven](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=7jKvoXJ5KOY&list=PLz9q8tuDHcRfQ--1tUrZj4xC1pShtz9cD&index=42)  
> Other: [Wire to Wire, by Razorlight](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ffKx2oP2pjQ)

_ Letter from Bainbridge to Fossil _

Bob, 

You may write to me at this address--it’s one of my safe-houses in Paris, which I, being a master of foresight and preparedness, had the good sense to secure for myself when we began our endeavor. 

I believe we must get Vince back to France, to take up his seat at the marquisate in Orleans, and forget all about these London jackanapes. They exercise too much influence over him. Already his abominable solicitor has attacked me,  _ and  _ shut down our access to his accounts, without which, I do not need to remind you, we cannot operate our forgeries. I do not believe this voyage to London has been at all advantageous for us or the young Marquis. We must direct him back towards home, immediately. 

This is where you play a pivotal role, Fossil. You must keep an eye and ear out for anything we could use to convince Vince to come back to France. Stay vigilant, and keep me posted. 

Your master,   
Bainbridge

PS: Burn after reading. 

_ Letter from Bob Fossil to Bainbridge, the envelope decorated with a red kiss mark of dubious origins. _

M’Bainbridge, 

I can’t believe that swine-headed feces-licker Saboo did that to you! I hope you are well. I hate it here. London is awful and I want to go home to France where there is at least good chocolate and pastries. 

It will be very difficult to get Vince to leave. Every day, he grows more entrenched with our enemies, these Londonites. In particular, there’s a new duke on the scene, some Howard guy, and Vince even spent the night at his home the other night! Every day we’re here, it seems Vince makes a new best friend. I hate this for us. 

I’ll keep you posted, dear Bainbridge. 

Love love love,   
Bobbity Bob

PS: I couldn’t find the matches so I ate your letter. Now a part of you is inside me. 

_ Letter from Naboo to Dennis, properly encoded this time _

Dennis, 

Can you please send my father’s diaries entries? The pertinent ones pertaining to Vince? I’d like to read them over. I think I need to speak with Vince soon regarding his parentage, and will likely tell him everything we know thus far regarding both his history and his current affairs.

I tire of the shrouds of lies hanging in my home. I desire for everything to be out in the open so we may speak freely instead of creeping about like foxes in a henhouse. Vince has proven himself to be good, clever, and trustworthy. He deserves to know the truth. 

Please advise.   
Naboo

_ Letter from Dennis to Naboo  _

Dear Naboo, 

Saboo has written to me detailing his unfortunate findings with regards to young Vince’s finances. The Marquis has, indeed, had the wool pulled over his eyes in the most heinous fashion. I agree with your assessment that he should be made aware of these facts, sooner now, probably, than later. 

Saboo and Tony Harrison scour France for this villain, who may possibly be the very Bainbridge who factored in Vince’s disappearance. As for Bob Fossil, we assume he is still in London based on tea leaf readings, but can not discern his exact locations. Once Saboo has solid evidence against these villains, if you would like my assistance in pressing charges, do let me know, as it would be my honor to assist the family Noir in any way possible.

I am also including the diaries you requested. I still believe that it is too soon to reveal these truths to Vince, however, I defer to you and your wisdom and preference in these matters. 

I remain, faithfully yours,   
Dennis, Head of the Secret Order of Shaman, Xooberon

* * *

_ Diaries and letters of the late Raymond Noir _

_ Letter from Raymond Noir to Dennis _

Dear Dennis, 

I am absolutely overjoyed, and nervous as a green colt this morning. I had forgotten what pre-wedding jitters feel like, for it has been so long since I wed my darling Diane. How fortunate am I that love’s arrows should not strike me once, but twice? It is true what they say, that the first blossom of love will never compare to the second. Not a day goes by that I do not miss my Diane, but two hundred years is sufficient time for mourning. When I met Yvette I knew--there was someone who could bring sunshine to my life again. 

I am thankful to you, Sire, for officiating the ceremony, even though it will be on Earth and we will have to pretend to be mere humans. Yvette may someday be brought into the Shamanic fold, but you are correct in giving all spouses a period of time for assessment. Look what happened with that one woman Saboo loved! 

I am eternally grateful for Naboo, as well. He is a good, forgiving son. He will never accept Yvette as his mother, and nor should he! He is grown, and Diane was a diamond among women. But he has given me his blessing to marry this Earth woman, and I am eternally grateful for it. 

Adieu, Sire! I will see you soon, and I remain, ever gratefully,   
Raymond Noir

_ Letter from Raymond Noir to Tony Harrison, one year after his wedding _

Dear Tony, 

I do hope the renovations on your home are going well. I eagerly anticipate seeing it upon completion! And I am sorry to hear that Saboo was so callous towards you in regards to the mess made at the Shaman Lodge. It is, as you would say, an outrage that he accused you thusly. 

I admit, my old friend, that I write to you for advice of the matrimonial kind. You and Mrs. H. have been happily wedded for years, and surely, someone endeavoring on a second marriage such as myself should be capable of navigating these tricky waters. Alas, I find myself at my wit’s end. What am I to do, Tony? Yvette is beautiful, but we have nothing in common to speak of. Her lovely head is full of jewels, fashion, and hair, and little else. Her time spent at the court of Marie Antoinette has done her intellect no favors. Furthermore, she is a terrible flirt. I cannot help but think her actions go beyond mere flirtation. Am I being made a cuckold? 

I am damnably angry at Dennis for suggesting Earth as a site for a Shaman outpost. This place is absolutely not ready for Shaman. We should try again in a century or two; perhaps then they will be ready to accept us. In the meantime, I am left with an unfaithful Earth wife and the heartbreak of knowing that I had life too good with Diane. I should have lived out the rest of my days content knowing that one time in love was enough. Alas, I have been a greedy fool. 

Give my love to Mrs. H. and the rest of the Order. I do miss Xooberon. 

Sincerely,   
Raymond  
  


_ Letter from Raymond Noir to Naboo _

Dear Naboo, 

I write to you with a joyous heart! Yvette is with child! I can barely believe my good fortune, that nearly two hundred fifty years after the birth of what I always imagined would be my only son, I may yet have another! You are going to be a half-brother, and I offer you my congratulations. 

Of course, my dearest son, the role you choose to play in the life of this new relation of yours is entirely up to you. It will be odd, won’t it, explaining to this half-Earth baby that its older brother, though he appears to be barely twenty in Earth years, is two centuries old?! If you want to meet your new sibling, you are always welcome. If you are busy pursuing your own Shamanic career, I understand completely. 

I thank you, again, for giving me your blessing to enjoy this second blush of my life. Life as a Shaman is long and can be tiresome. I had bliss once. To have it again is a treasure too rich to describe, and your role in all my happiness has been instrumental. Bless you, my son, for always. 

Love,   
Your doting father

_ Letter from Raymond Noir to Tony Harrison, three months after learning of her pregnancy _

Dear Tony, 

Today I found Yvette  _ in our bed  _ with the Earl Dior. I am beside myself with rage and anger. Is it not enough that I am posing here on this foreign planet as an  _ extremely  _ wealthy merchant? I have more money than any of the titled noblemen in France, England, or Prussia! Now she needs a man with a title as well? At this time, I do not even know if the child that quickens in her womb is mine. How to proceed?

Bereft,   
Raymond

_ Letter from Raymond Noir to Tony Harrison, two weeks later _

Dear Tony, 

Your last letter has been such a comfort to me. Thank Mrs. H. for her kind words, as well, and for the decant of Xooberon Summer Wine. To taste the comforts of home has been a balm to my soul. 

I cannot, as you say, give her a tentacle between the eyes. However, I did make clear to Yvette that her infidelity must cease. I threatened to remove her to the country, away from glittering London and Paris and the comforts of her life and her sparkling friends. However, despite knowing better, I still find that I love her, even a little. Those pretty blue eyes and high cheekbones never cease to take my breath away. And the child in her womb, be it mine or someone else’s, is innocent of his mother’s sin. I told her I would raise the child as my own, providing for both her and her child as long as they both shall live, if only she remains loyal to me. 

She answered me by awaying to her sister’s in the Lake District. She said she needed time to think and that being among her kinswomen during her confinement would benefit her best. I let her go. 

I rue the day I married her, Tony. May you and Mrs. H. never know such hardships. 

I remain, your faithful friend,   
Raymond

_ Letter from Raymond Noir to Naboo on the night of Vince’s birth _

Dear Naboo, 

I write in haste. Yvette has borne a son! You have a younger brother: Vincent Yves-Pascal Shatoon Noir (Shatoon, of course, after the Bringer of Corn). Yvette has demanded I stay in London, that she needs time with the infant and her sister and mother assist her. I may ride up and surprise her, for I very much wish to behold my new son.

I will write more tomorrow when I have the time. 

Love,   
Father

_ Personal diary of Raymond Noir _

Oh, great goddess, what have I done?

I rode to the Lake District yesterday to meet my son, and found the Earl Dior there. He claimed the babe was his. I did not make any such claim out loud, for now I am so uncertain as to not know my own mind. 

I told Yvette I would divorce her, give her a good sum of money, and let her and the Earl live together in peace if only she would give me the child to raise. Even if it is not mine… I cannot help but love the babe. He has his mother’s blue eyes, but there is something about him that I think resembles me, and not fair-haired Dior. Besides, I have a feeling with this child. I am a Shaman, after all. When I held him, his heart aligned with my own, I knew, beyond any doubt, that this beautiful son is mine. 

I wanted to run my sabre through Dior, but cannot be bothered, so broken is my heart. ‘Twas bad enough to suffer the loss of my beloved Diane. I now must also suffer the heartache wrought upon me by Yvette, too. 

Dior has left the house. I have contacted Saboo for the divorce papers and will sign them on the morrow. 

I am utterly brokenhearted. 

_ Letter from Raymond Noir to Naboo, the following day _

Dear Naboo, 

Come to London. Immediately, if possible. This is an emergency regarding your new brother and I need your advice, if not your company. 

Love,   
Father

_ Letter from Raymond Noir to Dennis, the same night _

Dear Dennis, 

I must inform you of the most dastardly, villainous plot that has been unhatched upon me. 

As you know, Yvette had a son, Vincent, which I believe to be mine. Her paramour, a lowly, rat-faced Earl named Dior, claimed the child was his. I went to the Lake District, where, as you know, Yvette had spent her confinement, and found them entangled for the second time. I will sue her for divorce, but offered her a tidy sum of money to let me raise Vince as my own. 

This morning, I went to the nursery, and found  _ a different child  _ in the cradle. 

Imagine my rage! Horror! 

I woke the house in a furor, demanding to know where  _ my son  _ is. Yvette played the fool, claiming the wan, jaundiced toddler in the crib is the same babe. Have I gone mad, sire? What is this lunacy? The child is at least 10 months, if not a year, old, and my newborn raven-haired son is missing. 

“That child,” I yelled, “is Dior’s, and you would foist it upon me?”

“That child is yours. You wanted to buy it off me? Then have it.” 

I spat on her floor and left the house, demanding satisfaction from Dior. The coward had fled during the night, of course, presumably with  _ my son.  _

I have no intention of ever setting eyes on Yvette again. Saboo will handle the divorce, and the devil may take Yvette and Dior. 

I will not stop until I have turned over every stone in England, sire. I will find what Dior has done with my son. I am in London, awaiting Naboo’s arrival, for he must know the fate of his half-brother and the foolishness of his father. 

I remain, your servant,   
Raymond

_ Personal diary of Raymond Noir, one week later _

The scales of justice are tipped unfairly in my favor, for my son, Naboo, has agreed to help me search for his missing half-brother. Naboo owes this child nothing, yet out of the goodness of his heart has agreed to help me search. I do not deserve such a son as this! He has his mother’s good heart, I am sure of it, and none of my foolishness, I hope.

I contacted the law enforcement officials in London who scoffed at my story and told me that without concrete evidence of a kidnapping there was nothing to be done. This leaves me and Naboo quite on our own in regards to finding baby Vincent. 

We did some scrying tonight, but all we could determine with any certainty was water. This is vague and hopeless intel. He could be in a river like the baby Moses or crossing an ocean on his way to goddess-knows-where. We will continue our attempts to divine where the babe is. I have written to the Order of Shaman, and they are working on it, too. Bless them all. 

I cannot sleep at night, for my dreams are tormented by visions of Diane and Yvette and poor, baby Vince. What have I done?

_ Personal diary of Raymond Noir, two nights later _

We received word today from Xooberon--Dennis believes he has located Vince in France, though he knows not where. This is enough for Naboo and I to be going off of. We will fly tonight by carpet to Paris, allowed to do so by special dispensation from Dennis. Leave it to cotton-headed Yvette to send her baby to glittering Paris. 

Once in Paris, we will have no mailing address and so no way for the Shaman to reach us. It will be me and Naboo on our own, searching for the lost Noir. I cannot help but worry for the baby every moment of the day-- a newborn like that, without its mother! Will it survive? Is he okay? Being fed enough? Is he warm? 

Damn Yvette and her pettiness for causing this worry! I would have happily taken the baby and left her alone, but she had to go and employ this devilish plot. I shall never forgive her for the sins she has committed against this baby, be it mine or not.

_ Letter from Saboo to Raymond, two months into the quest to find Vince, delivered by a carrier pigeon named Lolly _

My dear friend, 

The papers for your divorce have been finalized. You are now free of that vile woman. Also, of interest: Earl Dior is here, in London, publicly courting your ex-wife. Thought you’d like to know that whatever role he played in absconding with your son, he is here now in London. Would you like me to murder him? It would be my genuine pleasure. 

PS: The homing pigeon carrying this letter can return to me. Send any other letters you have for the rest of the Order with it. 

_ Letter from Raymond to Saboo, sent via Lolly _

Thank you, my dear friend, for your kind offer of manslaughter. What little wisdom I have tells me this: revenge is not the answer for the wrongdoing to the baby. I am too heartsick and weary to execute vengeance. Please, though, if you come across any new information regarding Vince’s whereabouts, do let me know. 

Give my regards to Dennis, Tony, and Mrs. H. 

-R

_ Letter from Raymond to Dennis, 2 months later, delivered by an enchanted moth to Saboo in London and forwarded to Dennis _

Dear Sire, 

We have combed Paris thoroughly, and turned up no evidence of baby Vince. Naboo and I have been to every orphanage and poor house, every house and manor and even Versailles. No dark haired, blue-eyed babes have been seen. 

Tomorrow we will begin to work our way out of the city. Perhaps some villain has taken him into the forest. 

Thank you, Sire, for being so understanding and for your assistance. Pass my regards to the others. 

-R

_ Personal diary of Raymond Noir _

Naboo and I have traveled the wilds of France for thirteen days. We are out of provisions. I have no way to reach the Order. Will we die here in the woods of a foreign land on an alien planet? Have I, in search for my youngest son, condemned my eldest?  
  


_ Personal Diary of Raymond Noir, 2 days later _

We have been rescued. 

Naboo and I stumbled upon a large estate at the forest’s edge and the master, as it turns out, is a Marquis, one Bryan Ferry, whose marquisate rests upon the edge of the Forest of Orleans. The woods are beautiful, but perilous for travelers as unprepared as we were. 

The Marquis has been most accommodating. Naboo and I have a wing here in his manor. We have rested and supped, and feel ready to continue our quest. I told Bryan our business, and he has asked his tenants if they’ve heard anything. Truth be told, I have not seen a single home other than Ferry’s, so I cannot imagine what kinds of people his tenants are or where they live. I think Ferry has a touch of forest magic. Perhaps his tenants are the creatures that dwell within?

I am too weary and heartsick to fathom it. Naboo remains steadfast, stoic as always. I do not know how much longer we can continue to search. It is unfair of me to ask Naboo to give the rest of his life to this quest, though I am prepared to do so for the remainder of my own. 

_ Letter from Saboo to Raymond, delivered by a very exhausted Lolly  _

Raymond, 

I ran into Dior at Regent’s Park the other day. I didn’t kill him, sadly, but I did rough him up a little bit. He gave the child to someone, a common thief named Bainbridge, who absconded with it to France. When pressed for details, Dior did not give much away, only that he thought they might go to the city of Orleans. I hope this information reaches you before it is too late and that you might find it useful. 

Yvette has married Dior and styles herself the Countess Dior, along with her hideous little rat of a son. That she could ever think to pass it off as yours is laughable. I have no idea the sum they must have paid in order for her to remarry, but it is done. The offer to burn their home to the ground still stands. 

-S

_ Last letter from Raymond to Saboo  _

Dear friend, 

Thank you for this intel. Naboo and I will head to Orleans on the morrow. I have been most unwell, the stresses of this quest taking their toll on me physically. Furthermore, and even worse, I find that I am so thoroughly shattered in mind that I may never recover. I care not whether I live or die, only that the baby is found. He will be nearly eight months old by now, and every day he has been away from a loving home, his chances at a normal, healthy life diminish. I can never forgive myself for the misfortune wrought upon him, and upon Naboo, by my selfishness. 

If something ever happens to me, promise me you will look out for Naboo. He is rising very well through the ranks of the Shaman, and shows great promise. His love of substances is a bit concerning, but that comes with the territory of magic. I feel as though the curtain draws closed, both on my time and on the window of opportunity to find Vince. The despair is overwhelming. 

Promise me you’ll make sure Naboo is well, if something should happen to me. 

Thank you, my dear friend. 

-R

_ Letter from Naboo to Dennis, 4 weeks later, postmarked from the Maison du Ferry _

Dear Sire, 

I cannot find it within myself to write the details of what has happened. My father is dead, and I have the baby. We must convene, for I need assistance. 

Bryan Ferry, the Marquis de la Forêt will allow us to meet in his home to decide the child’s fate. Please come, Sire. This is my most desperate hour. 

Your servant,   
Naboo

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know this chapter isn't as exciting, since it has nothing to do with Vince and Howard, but it's necessary to understand Vince's past and his family in order to move the plot forward. 
> 
> Raymond and Diane are named after Noel and Mike Fielding's actual parents. Yvette is just a name I picked out of thin air. 
> 
> To "demand satisfaction" means to challenge another party to a duel. Dueling was technically illegal by this point in time, but it was still done. Raymond is well within his rights to challenge Dior to a duel, and it would have been social ruination for Dior to run away as he had--duels were a matter of integrity and honor, and by leaving the way he did, he forfeits any sort of moral integrity he might have had. Clearly, sleeping with a married woman and hatching a kidnapping plot, he didn't have a lot of morals to begin with. 
> 
> Divorce was frowned upon at this time but did happen, particularly if the parties involved had a lot of money. Remarriage was more difficult but again, many problems can be overcome simply by throwing money at them. 
> 
> "This is my most desperate hour" is lifted directly from Star Wars. Thanks, Princess Leia.


	9. I Feel So Untouched

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Classical: [Concerto Grosso in G Minor, op.6, No.8, “Fatto per la Notte di Natali 3: Adagio, by Arcangelo Corelli ](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=7o6gRHY9wx4)  
> Other: [Untouched, by The Veronicas](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=EDS52OGoH1g)

_ Letter from Bainbridge to Fossil  _

Dear Bob, 

Vince’s attachment to this new duke might be useful to us. Keep an ear to the ground and keep me posted. 

Yours,   
D.B. 

_ Personal diary of Vince Noir _

The last two nights have been enchanting! The dinner at Leroy’s was quite a success. The bill of fare was so extensive, most of the foods were things I had never tasted before! Mutton, bisque, multiple fish dishes, candied fruits that glittered in the candlelight… it was truly an extravaganza for the senses! 

Howard and I arrived together, and were admitted into Lord Fauntleroy’s home. It is quite elegant, but I like Howard’s better. I also like Naboo’s better. We milled about, introductions being made. Howard was the highest ranking gentleman there, followed by me, but I felt quite important arriving with the only Duke in attendance. 

Imagine my  _ horror  _ when the lank-haired fool who teased me and Howard at the opera was in attendance! It turns out this interloper is Lance Dior, son of an Earl. I tried to be polite but my prejudice against him is quite fixed. He has a supercilious look about him, always talking as though he is superior to all else in his company. And I have the feeling that everything he says is a double-entendre, that he speaks out the side of his mouth and means nothing he says in sincerity. I dislike him tremendously. Luckily, he was seated a few chairs away, but it was a small party so he could not be entirely avoided. 

Howard was seated on Leroy’s right, I on his left, and Leroy did alternate his male and female guests, as Howard surmised. I sat beside a lovely woman, a Miss Delia, and Howard sat next to a lovely blonde named Susanah. I do not know their surnames, for there was so much happening and I was so nervous. Happily, I was able to keep an eye on Howard and watch him for cues as to what to do next. 

It went very well! I enjoyed conversation with Miss Delia and Leroy, who is most affable. After, Leroy served cherry brandy and I very much enjoyed mine. I told Leroy as much, but I did not recount the story of me getting ill from spirits. The evening passed without event, and I was so nervous about it that I was very honestly glad to have finished it successfully. Dinner parties are sparkling and elegant, but I prefer intimate dinners with Howard and Naboo.

Leroy wanted us to stay for cards after the meal, but Howard declined and I was grateful, remembering Naboo’s warning that Leroy would gamble me out of a fortune if presented with the opportunity. 

Howard drove me home in his carriage, and praised me for doing so well. I admit, I love to hear him praise me so. I have always been vain, and being acknowledged brings me such pleasure. Howard looked so beautiful, all proper and well-dressed, and I was overcome with the desire to see him unfettered, his hair mussed, his cravat loose, his lips swollen… 

I want him so very badly, but I know our union would be frowned upon. My mind is in constant torment. I fear if I cannot touch and taste him soon, my palms will grow so hairy that they cannot be hidden. 

Then, to add to my torment, last night, Howard came to retrieve me and take me to Vauxhall. 

Nothing on earth could have prepared me for the pure enchantment of it! England is such a wondrous place, as though the entire island is one big, magical garden! Howard arrived dressed in black, which suits him so well… he is dashingly handsome. I wore the dark green coat with a silver embroidered waistcoat and matching cravat. He smiled when he saw me, his eyes crinkling, and teasingly called me a fop. Then we made up a little song about the word “fop” on the carriage ride to Vauxhall. Never in my life has anyone been easier for me to be with than Howard. 

When we alighted from the carriage, the entrance to the gardens was illuminated with what seemed like thousands of little candles in glass lamps! I felt as though I had entered Titania’s woods. There was a towering, glittering stage shaped like a temple where musicians played, and the air was positively heady with the scent of flowers. I felt intoxicated merely being there! Because the gardens are open to all who pay for entry, there was such a fascinating variety of people to watch. Howard was kind enough to point out the nobility from the gentry, and even pointed out a cluster of ladies of the night! They were, in their own way, beautiful, but Howard steered us on. 

We drank champagne and listened to the music for a while--I was captivated, as I always am, by music. I love to listen to music, and wish I could employ a bard or chamber group of my own. Imagine, being able to have music in one’s home every single day, whenever one wished! Howard had to drag me away. There were spaces for dancing, and much of the entertainment seemed to be provided by meeting up with acquaintances and seeing the company gathered there. 

There was a labyrinth made of plants, and Howard indulged my whims and we went through it. It was not particularly challenging, but the air was cool, and smelled like roses and daffadillies and all sorts of flowers, and the moon was just bright enough to softly illumen our paths with its silver glow. Howard pointed out the names of different blooms and I stopped to smell all of them. I shall draw them all over the next few days. 

We strolled along, here and there passing an amorous couple nestled into the little niches. We passed one such couple and the  _ noises  _ they made were positively indecent. It stirred me to attention, and I was embarrassed, for it seems I am aroused at the drop of a hat these days. Howard either did not notice or was kind enough not to mention. He cleared his throat nervously and lit his pipe, which did nothing for the situation in my trousers, but seemed to alleviate his own awkwardness at the bawdy situation.

I took the opportunity as we walked to ask him a rather personal question. “Howard,” I asked, “why did you never marry?”

Indeed, I had hoped he would confess to me that a wife was not to his liking as much as, perhaps, a husband would be. But I received no such answer. 

“I was betrothed, once,” he said, eyeing the moon. We stopped walking. 

“Did she die?” I asked. I could not conceive, in my tiny mind, of any other circumstance which would tear someone away from Howard. 

He chuckled before answering, “No. She’s not dead. She chose someone else.” 

I know my jaw dropped nearly to the gravel ground. I was rendered speechless. Howard took the silence as an invitation to continue. “Yes, she was the daughter of a wealthy merchant. Caroline. Her father was in the graphite trade as I recall. Yes, we were betrothed. She was lovely, creamy skin and creamy lips and hair light as cream. Still… well, she did not love me. At an assembly she danced three times with a member of the landed gentry, and I saw the love in her eyes. Afterwards, I released her from our arrangement, and she married the other fellow. Last I heard, they were living happily in Somersetshire and had a number of children.” He finished the tale with a casual tone, as though he was discussing the weather, but he looked mournfully at the moon and puffed away at his pipe with such an air of melancholy that it took all my strength not to reach out and embrace him. 

“Is that why you hate assemblies?” I asked, remembering his disdain the first night we met. He smiled sadly. 

“I hate them for many reasons, but that not least of all.” 

“Well,” I began, “she was an idiot.” 

Howard looked hurt. I apologized, but he shook me off. “Perhaps you’re right,” he said sadly. “Perhaps she was an idiot. But I was moreso.” 

“You’re not an idiot, Howard,” I said. I reached out and took his hand, and he did not shake me off. Oh, lord, warmth filled me from scalp to toes. My stomach flipped and I felt dizzy, as though I might be sick, but it was not illness, just excitement. It seemed our skin buzzed where it touched, and I  _ ached  _ to feel more, to slip my hand up his wrist and his arm and his broad shoulders... I want to taste him so badly, and I thought of doing so, in that dark corner of the labyrinth. No one would see. I was positively dizzy on the scents of flowers and Howard’s pipe, and I wanted to lean into him, to feel him warm and solid against me. 

I did not, of course. We continued our walk, our hands dropping, and exited the labyrinth without ceremony. 

We did not speak much for the rest of the evening. We lingered a bit, listening to music, but left rather soon for a quiet carriage ride back to Naboo’s. I exited, bade Howard a good night, and have been feverish with desire ever since. I was short with Naboo upon getting home, anxious as I was to get to my boudoir and take my problems in hand. I have done so now three times, and am left as unsatisfied and empty as a flannel rung of water. What shall I do? I am in ecstasy and agony. 

_ Letter from Fossil to Bainbridge _

Dear Dixiepoo, 

I think Vince is in love with the Duke of Leeds! We should be able to use that information for something. 

I say this because he’s always mooning around and sighing and also, I found his sketchbook and it’s full of flowers and the Duke. I know Vincey keeps a diary, too, but I cannot find it anywhere.

Tell me what to do!

Your loving,   
Bobbity Bob

_ Letter from Howard Moon to Vince Noir, the same night as Vauxhall _

Dearest Vince, 

I regret to inform you that my housekeeper has shuffled off her mortal coil this evening. I must return to my seat in Yorkshire, Kiveton Hall, for Mrs. Keek has been with our family since my childhood and I must tend to my household in this time of emergency. 

I do apologize for vanishing so suddenly in the middle of the night. I had a lovely time with you at Vauxhall, and was rather hoping to take in an opera together in the next week. Alas, death waits for no man. 

I expect I will be away for the better part of a month, for in my experience, these matters do not resolve themselves quickly. Listen to Naboo. Be wary of spending too much time with Fauntleroy and Dior--I know you are acquainted now, but they are still rapscallions. I shall write to you. 

Will you please write to me?

I remain, your faithful friend,    
Howard Moon, Duke of Leeds

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If this _was_ a movie, I would totally have played thumping early 00's club music (like "Untouched") during the Vauxhall scenes. People haven't changed at all, really. We still like to get dressed up and go out, see what everyone else is wearing, hear some good music, and maybe find someone to get to know a little better. ;) 
> 
> Vauxhall Pleasure Gardens was very much a real place resplendent with entertainment, music, gardens, advanced lighting (for the time)... it was THE place to see and be seen. Indeed, the lighting was key to creating a fairytale-like atmosphere, especially when they were lit up at night. People did get up to some hanky-panky at Vauxhall, too, which makes it a popular setting for Regency romances. As far as I can tell, there is a park now in its original location. You can see some paintings and read more about Vauxhall as it used to be [here.](https://www.regencyhistory.net/2019/01/vauxhall-gardens-in-regency.html)
> 
> [Kiveton Hall](http://www.harthillwoodallhs.uk/Assets/DLImages/Kiveton.jpg) was the seat of the Dukedom of Leeds until its demolition in 1811. Then it moved to Hornby Castle. I chose Kiveton because it was more era-appropriate, and also, nobody can tell me I've described it wrong if it's not there anymore. 
> 
> Howard's fiancee being the daughter of a graphite merchant is a shout out to Pencil Case Girl. 
> 
> Vince's reference to hairy palms refers to an old wives' tale that masturbation would make you grow hair on the palms of your hands. Poor sexually frustrated Vince... he's _getting to know himself_ rather intimately, shall we say?


	10. Without My Wings I Feel So Small

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Vince tries to deal with Lord Howard's absence. He's not very good at it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Classical: [Intermezzo Sinfonico from Cavalleria Rusticana, by Pietro Mascagni](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=BIQ2D6AIys8)  
> Other: [Everytime, by Britney Spears](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=PyoJsKrb5N0)

_Letter from Naboo to Dennis_

Dennis, 

Thank you for sending my father's papers. I cannot tell Vince now, for he finds himself, in his own words, “in the depths of despair” since Lord Howard has had to return to Leeds unexpectedly. He mopes around my house like a ghost, and I do not think telling him about our relationship and our deceased father would cheer him any. 

Might try some shisha, though. 

My thanks again, Sire, as I remain faithfully, 

Naboo

_Personal diary of Vince Noir, water marks on the page from sadness tears_

I am in the depths of despair. 

Howard has had to return to Leeds. I am so melancholy, I can barely function. What is the point of anything, really? I have lovely clothes and no one to wear them with, for Naboo will not engage or go out. I cannot even stir myself to go to the shops or back to Vauxhall, for everything reminds me of Howard. 

I received a letter from Lester Corncrake informing me that my suit was done. I returned to his shop and the garment is so beautiful I can barely stand to look at it. It reminded me of Howard, of the shopping times, and I wept quietly into my handkerchief the entire carriage ride home. 

Oh, I am so very unhappy! 

_Personal diary of Vince Noir_

Naboo showed me his water pipe, and I discovered _it_ is the source of that herby smell which permeates his household. It is a pipe which has some sort of kettle-like device that bubbles water and some substance, or many, depending on the user’s preference. Naboo told me he enjoys mixing things together to make the most mind-numbing concoction possible, but I have read things about opium dens and was most horrified to learn of this habit. Bollo partakes with him! _Imagine!_ Naboo told me that the magic worked by his secret society requires the use of these substances, but it is overall the strangest thing I have seen yet since coming to England. 

Naboo convinced me that there was no opium in the pipe, but rather a strong strain of tobacco he calls shisha. He goaded me into trying it. I am not a smoker, in theory or practice. Howard makes it look so seductive and attractive, but it is not for me, for I choked horribly, my eyes watered, and the shisha made my head so light… everything felt very strange and all of my emotions became even _more_ intense rather than less so. Naboo said there was nothing mind-altering in the pipe but I think he lied. I left the room in tears and cried myself out on my bed before falling asleep. 

This is what my life is now, I suppose. I wrote a long letter to Howard telling him about the shisha. I hope it makes him smile even if I am miserable.

_Letter from Naboo to Dennis_

Sire, 

I am experiencing serious doubts. I allowed Vince to try a mild blend of hashish and tobacco and he can’t hold his drugs at all. Maybe my father got the wrong baby after all. 

-Naboo

_Personal diary of Vince Noir_

Naboo insisted I rouse myself and we attended the opera last night. I wore my new suit, but I was so melancholy that it mattered not. We sat in Howard’s box and I thought of him the entire time. I drank too much claret and was tap-hackled before intermission. The play was a comedy, but one of the arias set me weeping and I could not stop. Naboo looked disgusted with me as he led me to his carriage, and then up the stairs to my room where I promptly passed out. 

I arose late this morning and my head pounds. Howard has been gone nine days. 

_Personal Diary of Vince Noir_

_So, we'll go no more a roving_

_So late into the night,_

_Though the heart be still as loving,_

_And the moon be still as bright._

_For the sword outwears its sheath,_

_And the soul wears out the breast,_

_And the heart must pause to breathe,_

_And love itself have rest._

_Though the night was made for loving,_

_And the day returns too soon,_

_Yet we'll go no more a roving_

_By the light of the moon._

I have copied this poem out of a volume I found in Naboo’s library by a poet called Lord Byron. I have been weeping all morning reading his poems… I feel as though Lord Byron knows what it is to suffer as I do. 

It has been thirteen days since Howard left. There have been no social invitations forthcoming and Naboo remains staunchly antisocial. I am bereft. 

_Letter from Howard to Vince, sealed with the Ducal Seal of Leeds_

My dear friend, 

Your last letter was such a welcome diversion and I cannot thank you enough for sending it. Things here in Leeds have been dour, as you may expect. Mrs. Keek was well-loved, and hiring a replacement has proven to be challenging. I am speaking with my head butler to see if there is anyone on staff we might promote internally, but if that is not the case, we shall have to seek outside help. It is a tedious process, trying to find someone with the correct qualifications and temperament, for they must not only be suited to the work but also get along with the rest of the staff. 

These are the kinds of monotonous tasks that await you when you come into your inheritance, little man. 

The weather has been gray and cool, much cooler than in London. Indeed, having spent much of the season in London, I am stricken by the colorlessness of the place. Even your foppish waistcoats would be a welcome distraction for my weary eyes. 

I am pleased your new suit came in and I am sure it is magnificent. For an old blind Yank, Corncrake does remarkable work. 

Have you been to any assemblies or dinners? My box at the opera is yours to use, even in my absence. 

The next paragraph of your letter was marred terribly by what appear to be droplets of water. I cannot make the words out, and I do apologize and hope the contents were not of paramount importance. 

I cannot believe Naboo! What I mean is, I can believe this, for I have long counted Naboo among my acquaintances, if not my dear friends (of whom there are few), and he is overall a very good person, even if he does enjoy smoking his brains into a bog. I cannot believe he tricked you into partaking with him! The scoundrel! 

It is obvious that you need someone to protect you and look out for you. I do not say this with the intention of being patronizing, but your general ignorance of the world will be your downfall, sweet summer child that you are.

In the interest of keeping you safe... would you bestow upon me the honor of your company in Leeds? I would very much enjoy your companionship until this domestic matter is settled, for I admit, I miss your company, too. 

Write back with your reply. I shall send my carriage for you if you acquiesce. 

Until then, I remain, your friend,   
Howard

_Letter from Bainbridge to Fossil_

Fossil, 

Vince's new infatuation IS a fascinating development. Can you procure some of the Duke’s handwriting? A letter or missive of some kind? A plot is hatching. 

-Bainbridge

_Personal diary of Vince Noir_

Oh, the sun has come out again! 

I received a letter from Howard and he invited me to Leeds! To Kiveton Hall! I wrote back immediately in the affirmative and his carriage will be here two days hence! 

I can barely sleep or sit still, for I am aquiver with excitement! 

_Personal diary of Vince Noir, taken in Leeds_

Oh… 

I am overcome with joy! 

Howard’s carriage rumbled up this morning early, and I nearly flew out of Naboo’s house. Just to be safe, I packed everything I own, for I do not know for which occasions I might need to dress in Leeds. Certainly not an opera, but one can never be over-prepared where wardrobe is concerned. I required Bollo’s assistance to close the trunks, they were packed so full!

The ride from London to Leeds was only four hours. I had my sketchbook and drew the landscape and passing views, which was a nice diversion, but it seemed to take so long on account of my anticipation. We stopped to rest and water the horses and I was so damnably impatient, I could not even appreciate the quaintness (or remember the name) of the town where we stopped. The landscape changed as we made our way north, and Howard was right: it is remarkably gray and a bit cooler than in London. It began to rain which put me in an even worse mood, since I worried it would slow our progress. 

At long last, the carriage slowed and we pulled into a long drive. I wanted to open the windows to see Kiveton Hall better, but the downpour was so fierce as to obscure my view. I could tell it was a large estate, much larger than the Maison, made of what looked to be three large buildings arranged in an open square. The gardens and trees were very green against the gray background and I was nearly shaking with excitement. Finally, we stopped at the front door, and I waited for the footman to open the door for me, which he did, and escorted me to the entry of the house. As soon as I crossed the threshold, Howard was there. 

He embraced me.

I have still not recovered from it. I am going to write a poem about it, like Keats and Byron, for they are so romantic and have such a way of stirring the heart. My heart was stirred. So were other things. 

Howard enveloped me in a warm hug, smelling of smoke and tea, and I was so glad that I had remembered to splash on some toilet water before I left Naboo’s, and hoped I smelled even half as good as he. He held me for a moment, his hands firm on my back, and then he moved them up and down, the way one might soothe a child. I clung to him, unashamed, in front of the staff and everyone. I cared not. I have cried so much over the last few days, for it was not until Howard was away that I realized how much joy his company brings me. I have never had a friend before. My heart nearly broke during his two weeks’ absence, and now, it was being stitched whole again, being held so close to him. 

At last, though too soon, we broke apart and he patted my shoulder. He was dressed in brown, not terribly formal, but he still looked so handsome. I smiled up at him, and the footman brought in my trunks. Howard teased me for packing so much, but I explained how difficult it is to pack when one is uncertain of one’s itinerary. He laughed, and walked me up the grand staircase. 

Howard’s townhome in London is very classic, modern and tidy. His ancestral home, however, had touches of the Medieval--rich tapestries depicting hunts covering the walls, mounted hart’s heads, rich wood surfaces, but it was all coupled with obvious renovations: new chintz draperies, painted walls, rugs which were clearly not antiquities. The home is a beautiful marriage of old and new, tradition and modernism (not unlike Howard), and I am enamored of the aesthetic. 

Howard talked, offering little tidbits of history about the house, this room or that, the subject of this or that painting, but I admit, I was distracted, both by Howard’s presence and my own tiredness. I have not slept well these last weeks, and barely slept at all last night in my excitement. Howard led me down a richly decorated corridor, and explained his rooms were at the end. He then opened a door, the one closest to his own, and showed me inside, calling it “The Blue Room.” 

The room is unbelievable in its prettiness. Rich wood floors and walls are complemented by rugs and draperies in shades of blue. The bedding is soft and rich and also awash in tints of blue. A vase of the prettiest blue flowers sits atop the bedside table, and I was, of course, drawn to them immediately. I pressed the blooms under my nose and inhaled, though there was almost no fragrance forthcoming. Howard explained that they smell more fragrant at night--imagine! I asked what they are called, and he leaned close, a slight blush tinging his cheeks, and told me they are called forget-me-nots. 

I nearly swooned. 

Unsure of how to proceed, I just stood, holding his gaze. I cannot be sure, but I think he was reaching his hand for mine when, curses upon curses, I _yawned._ I drew my hand to my mouth to cover it out of habit, but ruined the moment in the process. 

Howard chuckled, and bade me to rest. It was just past noon, and Howard said he’d have some soup and bread sent up that I might eat at my leisure. He also had his servants draw me a hot bath. He left me be, offered me the services of a valet (which I declined, for I have always dressed myself), and told me dinner would be at six whence he would come and collect me. 

I was warm and flushed all over from the soup and the hot bath, and fell into that comfortable bed, asleep before I even realized it. I have slept well, and deeply, feeling so much more at ease now that I am near Howard. 

It is just now five, and having written here and written a letter to Naboo informing him of my safe arrival, I shall dress for dinner.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Tap-hackled = Regency slang for drunk
> 
> Shisha vs. hashish: traditionally, "shisha" was the term used for whatever was smoked in a hookah, and is generally just a blend of tobacco. "Hashish" is made from cannabis. So while Naboo told Vince there weren't any actual drugs in the hookah, there probably were. Because Naboo.


	11. I Await True Love For You

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> REGENCY SMUT.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Classical: [Sonata K. 213 in D Minor, by Domenico Scarlatti](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Kjgwv_DDCm0)  
> Other: [Sometimes, by My Bloody Valentine](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=fH0NQzXlzyQ)

_ Personal Diary of Vince Noir, written in French _

I am torn in mind between wanting to write everything in the most grand and glorious detail, that I may never forget it, and committing none of what occurred last night to paper, lest it be discovered someday. 

I have decided upon the latter, though I do not think writing in French is a very good code for keeping secrets. Still, it reassures me ever so slightly. 

Dinner was lovely. Howard knocked on my door and escorted me down to his dining room, which was classically appointed in shades of white and green, with the most elegant moulding around the top of the walls. An honest-to-goodness chandelier hung from the intricately moulded ceiling, and I pitied the poor servants whose job it was to light each of the candles. The table was long, not unlike the table at Howard’s London home, but longer. I sat beside him and we were served a delicious repast. Howard had sugar-encrusted fruits like the ones Lord Fauntleroy served, and they positively glittered in the candlelight. 

It was so warm and cozy, and our conversation flowed so easily… we spoke of everything that had happened to us in our weeks apart. I told him about the opera (but not the weeping) and my discovery of the great romantic poets. He told me about the mundane domestic aspects of keeping a house. All the while, dishes appeared and were cleared away by Howard’s admirable waitstaff, our wine glasses refilling seemingly by magic. I felt warm and full and content. 

Lulled by a sense of comfort and security, I asked Howard, “Do you remember when we met?” He grinned. 

“It was at the assembly,” he replied. 

“What did you think of me?” I inquired. I knew I was being forward, but I did not care. I was with Howard, in his beautiful home, a little wine-drunk, and so radiantly happy to be with him again. 

“You looked frightened,” he said. 

“I never did!” 

“You did,” he chuckled. “You were so wide-eyed and nervous-looking, and so quiet. Remember when you used to be quiet?” he asked teasingly. 

I laughed aloud. “I  _ was  _ nervous. My first assembly! And then meeting the great Lord Howard Moon!” 

“You knew about me?” he asked, an inquisitive quirk to his brow. 

I could feel my cheeks flush with embarrassment. “Only that Naboo had mentioned you were a friend of his who might help guide me through London society,” I admitted, fidgeting nervously with my napkin.

Howard barked a laugh. “I am woefully unqualified to guide anyone through society,” he said, a note of disdain coloring his words. 

“Still, you did take me to the opera! And got me a new suit, and took me to my first proper dinner party. You’re better at it than you think,” I replied. He grinned. “And I  _ was  _ slightly terrified. All those people who knew each other and the dances, and then I, standing there to the side, ignorant of everything with only Naboo, who kept  _ leaving  _ me.” 

“You knew the dances,” Howard retorted, sipping his wine. 

I nodded. “I knew  _ some  _ of them. The classic ones, minuets and waltzes. Bryan taught me what he knew, but he was at court in Versailles when Marie Antoinette was Queen,” I offered by way of explanation. “The newer dances, especially the English country dances, are unfamiliar to me.” 

Howard grinned, draining his glass. “Then we shall have to educate you.” His teeth glinted in the candlelight, and he looked utterly predatory. A shock of excitement shot through my whole body. 

He stood and motioned that I should follow him. I drained my glass before going, knowing that being a trifle tipsy would help me bear whatever was coming next easier. I followed Howard through what felt like a small maze of candle lit hallways, and we emerged in a ballroom--an actual  _ ballroom!  _ Oh, aside from the opera, it’s the most beautiful room I have ever had the pleasure of being in. And to think, it is in Howard’s house! That he could be in this room every day if he so chose! 

The floor was white, glistening marble, illuminated only by Howard’s candelabra and the moonlight filtering in through the floor to ceiling windows. The walls seemed to be covered in a silky paper, shimmering and iridescent in the low light. It felt magical. The heels of our shoes clicked on the shiny floor as Howard set the candles atop a pianoforte, and led us to the center of the room. 

I am sure my mouth hung open like a fish’s. 

“Now,” said Howard, his voice low, “I shall be the lady, and you shall be the man.” I giggled, maybe out of nerves or slight intoxication, but imagining Howard as a lady was utterly comical. 

“You’d make a pretty lady, Howard,” I teased. I was rewarded with that devilish half-smirk that I so love. He did not dignify me with a response, but rather positioned my arms in a certain way. He then stepped into them, and we both laughed a little. It is ridiculous to imagine a woman as tall and broad as Howard… if anything, I should have been the lady, but that would defeat the purpose of the education. 

“Now,” said Howard. “You begin with a bow, and assume this position.” I nodded. “Of course, there’ll be two, maybe three, other couples in the line.” Again, I nodded, remembering the dances I’d seen at the assembly when I first met Howard. “When the music starts, there are two steps forward,” he came towards me, “and two steps back.” We parted. “The top couple will perform the most elaborate steps, but for now, we shall assume the positions of a minor couple.” 

Hearing him say “we” and “couple” in the same sentence made me feel as warm inside as the soup had after my arrival. 

I was terribly distracted and lost track of what he was saying. More than once I stepped on his feet, and more than once somehow I ended up in the position of the lady. I blame Howard for being so easy to hold on to. That and, try though he might, he leads the dance even when he’s not playing the lead role. 

The third time I spun back to face him and held on to him from the lady’s position, he pushed me away. “Damnation, Vince,” he spat. “You’re supposed to be the  _ man,  _ not the  _ woman.”  _ His words took on a northern brogue I hadn’t heard before, and I… I am ashamed to admit it, but being scolded by him in that voice set my blood afire. 

“I apologize, Howard,” I mumbled. “It is so much easier to be the woman--”

“You are the single most womanish man I have ever met,” he said, his eyes blazing. He started to circle me, like an animal before killing its prey. I worried he was genuinely angry with me, and felt my eyes begin to well up against my will. 

“I said I was sorry, Howard,” I apologized, meeting his eyes from beneath my damp lashes. “We can try again, I’ll try harder.” 

“So womanish,” said Howard, his voice low, as he stalked closer to me. He ran a hand down my cheek, and I felt my eyes flutter shut, a stray tear making its way down even though I willed it not to. He wiped it away. “Tears, like a woman. Beautiful clothes like a woman. Long hair, such a nose, and those big blue eyes…” He leaned in close and inhaled at the top of my head, breathing in my scent. “If you were any more a woman, I’d have taken you to my bed weeks ago,” he whispered. 

Fire shot through me, and I felt my body grow warm. 

“Take me anyway,” I said, challenging him. He thrust his hands behind my head and crushed me into a kiss. 

I have been kissed before, but never like that. 

His lips were coarse against mine, not plump and soft like a woman’s, but very much a man’s. His fingers tangled in the hair at the nape of my neck sending shivers through my entire body as he undid my tail and tangled his fingers in my hair. I did the same,  _ at last  _ able to touch those beautiful curly locks of his. 

We stood, kissing and exploring each other’s mouths until his hands drifted down my back. He grabbed my arse and I moaned, wanton as a loose woman, into his mouth. 

The sound did something to him, for he growled low in his throat and pushed me against a marble column, his weight crushing me against it in the best possible way. I cried aloud when he pressed against my length, already hard and needy for him… had been since we left the dining room. His tongue tangled in my mouth, his dexterous fingers carding through my hair. So many sensations… I was overcome. I panted aloud, full of a need the kind of which I have never known. I wrapped my leg around him drawing him closer and felt his hardness echoing my own as it pressed into my hip. “Howard,” I moaned. “Please.” 

I do not even know what I was begging for, I just knew that I needed it desperately. 

Howard pulled away, and pressed his forehead to mine, catching his breath. I wanted to cry or scream, I was so upset that he’d  _ stopped.  _

“Vince,” he said, his eyes closed. He whispered my name like a prayer, and I was overcome with emotion. I wanted to weep. 

“I’m here, Howard,” I said. “Please, whatever you want or need, please…”

“Vince, this is illegal,” he said. 

I had no answer for this. I knew that, but I also didn’t give a fig. “That doesn’t matter, Howard. Are you going to turn us in?” He shook his head. “Me either. Tonight, it doesn’t matter.” 

He met my eyes and smiled. I smiled back. And I knew I was home. 

Howard took my hand and grabbed the candelabra from the pianoforte on the way out of the ballroom. He led us back down our corridor, and into his rooms. 

I must admit, I was not looking at them carefully. My mind was awhirl. The room was lit by a fireplace, and I was unsure what to do in the flickering light. Should I disrobe? I looked to Howard, who was at an elegant sideboard, pouring himself a drink. He downed it in one and poured another, sipping it slowly. He poured one for me and handed it to me. I sniffed and knew it was whisky (thank you, Naboo and Saboo), and while I dislike it generally and was already pleasantly muddled, I drank it, knowing I needed to be as loose and relaxed as possible for whatever was next. I handed the tumbler back to Howard, and he replaced it on the sideboard before joining me in front of the fire. 

“Vince,” he said, his voice husky and quiet, “are you sure you want this?”

“More than anything,” I answered, breathless in my earnestness. 

“You’ve never… with anyone?”

“No,” I answered. “Have you?” 

He shook his head. “I must admit, I am not even sure how to proceed.” He hung his head as though ashamed and the attitude was so affecting that I couldn’t help but go to him and kiss him softly on the lips. 

“We’ll figure it out together,” I said, tangling my hands in his hair. “We’ll do whatever feels good.” Something in Howard’s eyes blazed and he held my face between his hands, and kissed me again. 

For a long time we stood before the fire, kissing. There are so many ways to kiss! I did not know this before. I had always assumed that kissing was just kissing, and while it was nice, there wasn’t much to it. How wrong I was! There are slow kisses, nibbling kisses, hungry kisses, impassioned kisses… 

I began to feel very warm and a bit drunk, so I shucked my coat and laid it carefully on a chair before the fire. Howard’s eyes flashed again, and he came to me hungrily, growling low in his throat as he devoured my lips with his. 

I wanted to cry out at his attentions--I have never felt anything like it. I was achingly hard in my trousers and wanted to touch myself so desperately but I dared not.

He led me across the large room, kissing me all the while, until the backs of my legs knocked against his bed. He smoothed my hair away from my face and took off his own coat. I could resist no longer--I undid his stupid muslin cravat, and threw it atop his jacket, and I positively attacked the white expanse of his throat with my lips and teeth and tongue. All at once, he collapsed onto the bed, sitting on the edge as though his knees had given way. I stood in the space between his legs and every fantasy I’ve had over the last month came true as he undid my cravat and tossed it aside. I was put out that he treated it so carelessly, for at least  _ mine  _ was lace, but I was too distracted to properly mind. 

His large hands held my hips and he guided me onto his lap, where he proceeded to bite and kiss and suck my neck in turn. I ground my length down against his lap, and he shifted until his cock was pressed against mine. I moaned aloud like a whore, not even recognizing how high and breathy my voice sounded. “Oh, Howard,” I said over and over, like a prayer. 

He hummed against my throat, the vibrations making my cock twitch, and in one deft motion he lifted my shirt over my head and returned to sucking the place just above my collarbone. I had no idea how many spots on the human body are conduits for pleasure! He kissed and sucked, and bucked his hips up, rubbing his hard length against mine. His hands traveled up my chest and he tweaked a nipple, something I had never experienced before, and--

I am ashamed to admit it, but I climaxed right there, Howard still fully dressed. I cried aloud, trying my best to keep quiet and failing. My vision swam, so intense were the sensations. All the while Howard kissed me, neck, ears, face, chest. He said I was good, that I was doing so good, and called me “sweetheart” and “love.” 

I have never before come with another human, and I do not believe I can ever go back to pleasuring myself. 

When I had spent myself, he laid me back against the mattress and kissed me, his weight a solid comfort above me. My head was light, lighter than it had been when I smoked the shisha with Naboo, and I felt loose-limbed and tired and wonderful. Howard removed my trousers and pants, and I was so ecstatic that I could not be ashamed by the wet state of them, then disrobed himself. I sat up on my elbows and stared, taking in his beautiful skin, his long limbs, and his gorgeous cock. It was hard and red, and I felt pride knowing I had done that to him. Seeing it there, bobbing and needy, I was overcome with the desire to have it in my mouth. 

Howard ruffled his hair awkwardly, and I shook my head. “You’ve nothing to be shy about, Howard,” I said, my voice surprisingly raspy. He smiled a little and turned back to the sideboard where he drank another tumbler of whisky. This afforded me a wonderful view of his tight arse, and even though I had just come, my cock again began to show an interest in the proceedings. 

He held up the glass as though offering me some, but I shook my head. I was already drunk and spent, and could have fallen asleep very easily as it was. Howard finished his drink and came back to the bed, laying atop me again and we kissed, the sensation of skin on skin something completely new and arousing. 

I don’t know how long we kissed, or how we ended up where we did, but I found myself very happily with the tip of his cock in my mouth as he lay with his head upon the pillows. At first I kissed the head of his cock, then, at his encouragement, took it into my mouth. He tasted salty and musky, and I was addicted from my first taste. Howard shuddered and moaned such obscenities, and I could feel my own cock growing harder with each sound he made. 

I know that being called a “cocksucker” is an insult, but I absolutely  _ loved  _ having Howard’s cock in my mouth. My jaw ached a little, but my arousal, and his, overpowered that. I took more of his length into my mouth and established a rhythm, careful to keep my teeth out of the way. Howard thrashed back and forth, his skin flushed the most alluring shade of rose. “I won’t last long, Vince,” he kept saying. 

I looked up at him, and released him with a pop. “Good,” I said, and resumed my ministrations. I used my hand to fondle his bollocks, and felt them tighten. Howard grabbed my head and thrust me down on his length, praising me all the while. 

“So good, Vince, so good, yes, you love it, you little slag, yes, so good, Vince.” The constant litany of praise made me moan around him--even his insults aroused me. He felt so good in my mouth, hot and stiff and velvety… I moaned around him, and felt him tighten in my mouth, and then he was coming, shooting into my mouth and down my throat. I swallowed as much as I could, spit and seed dribbling down my chin, and some of it into my hair. He kept coming and coming, no end in sight. I used my hands to bring him to completion as he moaned and sighed, singing my praises all the while. 

Moments or minutes or hours passed, and eventually, Howard had spent himself. I lay back on the mattress beside him, my jaw and throat quite sore from their recent workout. I was achingly hard again and reached down to stroke my cock, every sensation in my body heightened, from my own recent climax or the alcohol or being with Howard, though I know not for certain which. Every stroke sent a tickle of pleasure through my body and I gasped. My eyes were shut as I rubbed myself, my pleasure building. I felt Howard get up from the bed and opened my eyes to watch him go to the washbasin on the other side of the room. He swayed a bit as he walked, and I imagined he was well foxed, having had more to drink than I had. He splashed his face and returned to the bed with a wet flannel. His strong fingers wrapped around my wrist, stopping me from gratifying myself. 

“Mine,” he growled possessively. I tipped my head back and sighed in pleasure, my erection aching with need for attention. Howard wiped my face and chest and hair, cleaning me up, and I was so moved by his ablutions that I felt my eyes tear. He kissed my forehead in an act of intimacy that seemed so much more significant than what we had just done. Then he cast aside the flannel, eyes bright, and muttered, “my turn,” before taking my cock into his mouth. 

I have never known such pleasure in all my life. It burned within me, from the base of my spine all the way up to the crown of my head. I mewled aloud then covered my mouth with my hands. Howard reached up and pulled my hand away. 

“Don’t be quiet,” he ordered, his Northern accent coloring the words. I keened as he took me back into his mouth, sucking and bobbing. I wasn’t going to last long, oversensitive as I was. Within moments, I could feel that spark of pleasure snapping low in my belly and with a cry I came again, pouring myself into Howard’s mouth. He did not swallow as much as I did, preferring to use his gorgeously long fingers to stroke me as I finished. I don’t know what I babbled in the heat of pleasure, but Howard seemed to enjoy it. Pleasure overcame me and I felt that I was outside my body and yet more in it than I ever have been, all at once. I felt as though I had blacked out. Perhaps I did?

When I came back to myself, I had been cleaned up again and was lying with my head propped against Howard’s pillows. He lit himself a pipe and I watched in open admiration as he smoked it. 

“You have no idea how alluring it is when you smoke,” I said, my voice slurred and low. 

Howard chuckled. “Really?” 

“Really,” I nodded. He exhaled and then made a show of blowing a smoke ring. 

“Could you blow one on my cock next time?” I asked, the question stupid and silly in my drunken, post-orgasmic haze. 

Howard laughed, setting down the pipe and pulling back the covers. We both got into bed and I nuzzled against his chest, the rhythm of his heartbeat filling my head. He kissed the top of my head, and wished me a good night and within minutes, I was dead asleep. 

I have never slept so well or so heavily in my life. 

To no surprise, I awoke this morning with a headache, and even though I came twice last night, I am hard again recounting these events. Howard slumbers on. I came back to my room to write everything down while it is fresh in my mind, and to tidy up. I shall return to him and maybe catch a few more minutes’ sleep. 

Or maybe do things  _ other  _ than sleep. 


	12. Would It Be a Sin

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The dastardly plot against Vince picks up steam. More smut. Vince and Howard continue to enjoy each other's company together in Leeds, until they're parted a bit suddenly.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Classical: [Pièces de Viole, Livre IV, Suite d'un Goût Etranger, by Marin Marais](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=wn3q7XEFPFI)  
> Other: [Can’t Help Falling in Love with You, by the A-Teens](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=6lTCnswkgOQ)

_ Letter from Bainbridge to Fossil, with an envelope enclosed _

Dear Fossil, 

I have forged a letter from the Duke to Vince. I leave it at your discretion to use it when you best see fit. I shall entice my nephew to humiliate Vince--it will not be difficult. At that time, you can slip Vince the false letter and hopefully he shall come back. We must get Vince back to France and encourage him to take over his estate so we can get back to forging money. 

Be careful, for I think these “friends” of Vince’s are onto us. Lay low, but stay vigilant so we can get Vince back to France. 

Yours,   
Bainbridge

_ Letter from Saboo to Dennis, copied and sent to Naboo _

Dear Naboo and Dennis, 

The Banque has frozen Vince’s accounts until he arrives himself and gives consent, in person and in my company, for them to be opened and used again. 

Tony Harrison and I made quite a nice discovery. We did some sleuthing and managed to follow Dixon Bainbridge’s trail to a paper money forgery workshop located in the basement of a textile mill in Orleans. Massive printing presses, countless inks, impression plates… everything needed to produce counterfeit bills was there. We notified the authorities, and a warrant is out for the arrest of Dixon Bainbridge on charges of fraud and embezzlement. 

I believe this is the same villain who factored into Vince’s disappearance all those years ago, and therefore, I blame Bainbridge for Raymond Noir’s death. He will wish for something sweet as death when I catch him. 

For now, the authorities are working to track him down. There is little we can do at this time but wait. Harrison and I will stay at the Maison du Ferry, in case he returns to the scene of the crime. This will afford me time to go through the paperwork involved with Ferry’s estate, and prepare things for when Vince returns to his rightful place. 

Your faithful servant,    
Saboo  
**_And Tony Harrison!_ ** ****

_ Personal diary of Vince Noir _

Yesterday was blissful. All the days have been blissful since I am here with Howard. Yesterday morning, after I wrote my last entry, I rejoined Howard in his chambers. He was still asleep so I took the opportunity to sneak back in under the covers. He stirred just enough to reach over and grab me, and he nuzzled into me and I found I loved it so much that I composed a poem about it in my mind. I do not recall it now. 

Eventually, Howard woke. He was feeling quite poorly, probably on account of having drunk so much the night before. I was heartsick, because once he stood and realized the stabbing pain in his head, he remembered the night before and seemed terrified of what we had done. He asked all sorts of questions, if we had done what he thought we did, and I answered yes, that it had been wonderful, and he looked like he might be ill. He started to say something along the lines of, “We were drunk, it was a mistake,” and my heart cracked a little. 

I asked him, “Was it really a mistake, Howard? Would you have only loved me when you were drunk?” He looked at me for a long time, no answer forthcoming. I was so sorrowful, I told him, “Because I don’t think it was a mistake. It was the best thing that’s ever happened to me in my life, and I feel just as strongly now, in the light of day, as I did last night.” 

He watched me for a moment, a veritable parade of emotions crossing his face: disbelief, guilt, sadness, then a wry smile. 

I watched his gorgeous, naked form, taking an interest in his cock which twitched ever so slightly. “I don’t think  _ you  _ thought it was a mistake, either,” I said, licking my lips. 

He shook his head and came back to bed, where we whiled away the morning happily. I did let him up for the water closet and to take some headache powder (which he shared with me), but then we were back in the bed. 

A servant left breakfast outside his room, but by the time we realized it, it had gone cold. Howard put on an elegant dressing gown and informed the servants that we were both ill from overindulging the night before, and we were not to be disturbed. Food was left outside our doors, and I sneaked out like a thief in the night to grab my trays. We ate in Howard’s room, before the fire, and spent the day talking and laughing and trying to reproduce what I remembered from Bryan Ferry’s Indian book of copulation. They were not at all successful, but we had a good laugh, and discovered some things that we  _ did  _ enjoy. 

We spent the night together, in Howard’s bed, and I believe I enjoy sleeping with someone better than  _ sleeping with them.  _ The weight of someone beside me on the mattress, his warmth, his soft, rhythmic breathing… it is so pacifying and beautiful. The little empty parts inside me are filling up with Howard, and I am so happy. 

Unfortunately, I have only a week with him. We are making the most of it.    
  


_ Personal diary of Vince Noir, 3 days later _

Yesterday, Howard and I went for a hunt. I told him straight away that I would not kill any animals, and he agreed that this was suitable, if unconventional. The stables and grounds of Kiveton Hall are spectacular--so many beautiful green and fragrant plants. There is even a little river that runs along Howard’s land! It was beautiful to be outside with Howard all day. 

We rode horses! Bryan taught me to ride, but we did not keep horses, so it is always a pleasure and an exciting pastime for me to be in the saddle. We rode slowly through the grounds, Howard pointing out little out-buildings, the kitchen gardens, telling me the history of the land. Howard’s voice is so velvety, I could listen to him talk for the rest of my life. We spotted many animals--pheasants, foxes, squirrels--but we did not shoot them, thankfully. 

Howard even packed a picnic lunch, and we found a spot beneath an old tree on a moor (Howard taught me all about moors, for I had never heard of them before) to sit and eat cold sandwiches and beer. I dislike beer, but it is drunk in England like water, on account of the actual water being unclean for drinking. This perplexes me, as Bryan and I always drank from the spring on his grounds, and the water was cool, sweet, and good for drinking. I sipped my beer, and mostly sated myself watching Howard. 

After we’d finished eating, we did froclick about on the moor. It was good fun and ended with us kissing like madmen beneath that great open sky.

The sky opened, and we rode our horses back to the house, bone-wet and tired by the time we arrived. Grooms took the horses back to the stables, and I went back with Howard to his room, shivering in my wet clothes. Howard asked his servants to bring up hot water for a bath for me and for him, and to set the fire in his room. These tasks completed, we were alone in his room, in the firelight, both of us cold and shivering. 

“Get out of your wet clothes, Vince,” commanded Howard, his voice low. I shivered again, but not from cold. 

“And you?” I asked. 

He grinned that wolfish, hungry smile. “I’ll be next. You first.” He sat in one of the chairs before the fire and spread out his legs, looking relaxed and leisurely. 

I reached up and undid my hair first, then my cravat, and set it on the empty chair opposite him. Next, I took off my boots and socks. I looked back at Howard, and his eyes were dark with lust as he nodded for me to continue. I peeled my wet coat off with some difficulty, and hoped that the fabric was not ruined from its thorough soaking. I shivered again as the cool air hit me. 

“Go closer to the fire,” Howard commanded. I blush to admit it, but I  _ adore  _ that commanding tone of voice. I was becoming so aroused, hearing him order me around like a servant. He shifted in his chair, and I could see he was becoming aroused as well. 

I moved before the fire, its warmth soothing me a little as I tried, with trembling fingers, to unbutton my waistcoat. I fumbled, shaking from the cold and from desire, and Howard crooked a finger, beckoning me near. I went to him. I wanted him to touch me, to guide me down onto his lap, to hold me, to kiss me, but he did none of that. He merely unfastened the buttons, and pushed me again back towards the fire. “Go on,” he said, his voice gravelly. He reached his hand down between his splayed legs and palmed himself through his trousers, and the sight made me whimper aloud. 

“You can join me when you’re finished getting undressed,” said Howard, then he tipped his head back and groaned aloud with pleasure as he ran those long fingers up his own length. “But don’t rush. Don’t you dare rush.” He stroked himself again, his breath quickening. “You want to dress like a gentleman?” He sucked his lip between his teeth, his eyes still latched onto mine. “Then you undress like a gentleman. One piece at a time.” 

The sight of him, relaxed and splayed out like Mars in a Botticelli painting, pleasuring himself while ordering me about, made my cock twitch. I sighed deeply, and slowly shucked off the damp waistcoat, laying it gently atop of my other clothes. 

Slowly, I started fiddling with the ties of my shirt at my throat, but I took my time and ran my own hand up my neck and into my hair, my eyes fluttering shut. I heard Howard grunt and reopened my eyes, meeting his. 

“Don’t--don’t touch yourself,” he ordered. 

“Jealous?” I asked, grinning devilishly at him, as I dragged my hand down my chest. 

Howard barked a laugh. “Jealous? No. If you continue to misbehave, I’ll simply ring for a servant and make you go bathe and get changed in your own room. We need not continue.” He said this last sentence as he stood, moving across the room to where the ropes were to ring for the help. 

“No!” I cried, hating the desperation in my voice. He turned and raised an eyebrow. “No. Don’t. I won’t touch myself anymore, I promise.” Howard smiled, got himself some whisky from the sideboard, and returned to his chair before the fire. He made a show of lighting a pipe, and took the longest, most sensual draw from it, his cheeks hollowing in such a way that reminded me of him sucking… 

“Oh, _Howard_ ,” I sighed. 

“Continue,” he ordered. By this point I was so hard that it nearly hurt. I tried to move slowly, removing my sodden shirt, but my hands shook so terribly from the cold and with need that I think my movements were jerked and hurried, not slow and sensuous. Howard smoked, exhaling a plume of smoke and swallowing sips of whisky in such a way that his Adam’s apple bobbed most alluringly. 

With unsteady hands, I undid the flies of my trousers and stepped out of them, leaving me tented in my smallpants. Howard looked down at me, licked his lips and smiled, and nodded, urging me to continue. I dragged them down and stepped out of them, and shivered violently, my nakedness doing nothing to protect me from the onslaught of cool air.

“Come here,” Howard growled. I came to him obediently. “On your knees.” I kneeled excitedly, hoping he was going to undo his flies and allow me to take him in my mouth, but he held my chin, tipped my head back, and poured the rest of his whisky into my mouth. “Swallow,” he ordered, his voice low and rough, “like I know you can, greedy little minx.” 

It took me three swallows to finish the whiskey, and the heat from it rushed through me, warming me. I shivered again, placing my hands on either side of his thighs, and let the whisky warm me. It made my head light and I was so cold but also so warm… I needed a moment to get my bearings. I lay my head in Howard’s lap, catching my breath, and could feel how hard he was in his trousers. I closed my eyes, breathing in the scent of him, nuzzling his length with my nose.

Howard stroked my hair, shushing me comfortingly. “Good job, Vince. So good.” My cock twitched at his praise and I could have stayed there for ages as he scratched my scalp, murmuring praise to me, but my body was wracked by another shiver and Howard lifted my head. “Stand up, Vince,” he said, rising also. He placed a kiss on my lips and I was aching for more but he withheld. Taking me by the hand he led me to the clawfoot tub, which was steaming and full of water. “Get in,” he said, and I did not hesitate a moment. I sunk into the water, and my blood warmed almost instantly. I sighed aloud, shivering as my skin went from icy to hot in moments. I felt strangely out of breath, and dizzy. 

Howard watched, grinning. “Touch yourself, Vince, beneath the water. Tell me how it feels.” 

Eagerly, I grabbed my aching cock and moaned. “Feels good, Howard.” 

“Good,” he said, and I closed my eyes but I could hear him undressing. I ran my hand up and down my length, my breathing getting more frantic. 

“I was s-so cold, Howard, and now I’m warm, but I need you.” I opened my eyes and Howard was taking off his pants and he came and stood at the head of the tub. 

“Stand up,” he said, and he took my hand and helped me rise. He stepped into the tub and stood behind me, wrapping his arms around me and kissing my neck as I continued to tug on my aching erection. I could feel his hardness against my back and I wanted to catalogue this feeling of tension and desire and  _ need  _ to remember it forever. Howard started to lower himself into the tub, bringing me with him. I sat atop him, back to his chest, both of us submerged in the hot water. He continued dusting kisses down my neck and shoulders and I tipped my head back against him and closed my eyes, preferring just to  _ feel.  _

His hands wrapped replaced my own, those long, strong fingers stroking--it wasn’t long before I climaxed. Howard ground himself into me, slotting his length between my legs and thrusting. The room was full of the sounds of sloshing water, skin on skin, and panting breaths and moans. Just as I was finishing, Howard came with a roar so erotic I nearly came again. I turned around and used my hands to finish him, kissing him passionately the whole time. His tongue thrust in and out of my mouth and he keened so erotically… 

Finally he finished and we lay front to front in the bath as the water cooled. I could have slept, but Howard roused me. “Get up, Vince,” he said, and I rose, water dripping from me. “We need to clean off, but we’ll use your bath for that.” I grinned--such a stupid, wicked little plan. Giggling, we put on our dressing gowns and sneaked down the hall to my room where the bath sat, water cooling in disuse. We got in and took turns washing each other’s hair and backs, and mapping each other’s bodies with kisses. When we finished, we returned to Howard’s room and napped, wrapped in each other’s arms, for it was only 4 o’clock. When we woke we dressed for dinner and went to the dining room. 

We spent the rest of the evening as proper, law-abiding gentlemen, discussing books and music and enjoying a fine repast. Once we retired to our rooms, however, legality was again discarded in favor of pleasure. 

The last few days have been wonderful, but I am exhausted, and I fear I have taken cold after our exercises on the moor. Howard made me a hot toddy tonight, but I have been too unwell to do anything too strenuous. I have been writing while Howard reads and smokes beside me in the chairs before the fire. We will away to bed soon. I am in desperate need of sleep. 

_ Letter from Lance Dior to Dixon Bainbridge _

Dear Uncle D, 

I have received the money you sent. I will do everything in my power to publicly disgrace the Marquis and send him back to Orleans. Thank you for thinking of me. I will remember this when I grow closer to the Crown, for mama still hopes that I shall make a very upwardly mobile match with a duchess, or perhaps even a princess! When I rule, you shall be at my side. 

Gratefully yours,   
Earl Lance Dior

_ Letter from Kiveton Hall to Naboo’s townhouse in London _

Dearest friend, 

I am writing to inform you that Vince has taken ill with fever. He asked me to write to you and ask if you had any remedies you might recommend? We were caught outside in the rain and I am afraid Vince, being of delicate constitution, caught cold. I apologise most deeply, Naboo, for you are among my closest friends, and I know the Marquis is your guest. Please advise on how you wish for me to proceed. All my help is at your disposal. 

I remain, your faithful servant,    
Howard Moon, Duke of Leeds

_ Letter from Naboo to Saboo in their own personal cipher _

S, 

Vince has been away in Leeds with Howard, but I am ordering him to come back. Apparently he’s ill, and I want to keep an eye on him.

My entire life has been dedicated to keeping my idiot of a baby half-brother safe. I hate it. If he ever learns to be self-sufficient and stay out of trouble, I shall surely perish with boredom. 

Also I wish you would return to London, for I can’t go any place with good drugs in Bollo’s company, for the people stare so rudely.

-N

_ Personal diary of Vince Noir _

I am in London. I am so sad to be parted from Howard, but Naboo insisted I come back so I could receive proper medical attention, for I did grow rather ill after being caught in the downpour. He sent his carriage for me and insisted upon my return, despite Howard’s protestations. My throat aches terribly, my body is wracked with aches and chills, and the fever comes and goes. I am lucid now but according to both Howard and Naboo, have horrific fever dreams when I sleep. 

For all that, my true pain is in my heart, for I have been taken from Howard too soon! We should have had longer together. He told Naboo I could return to Leeds at any time, and that he would notify us if he returned to London. 

Naboo has taken good care of me, keeping my room warm and my window open, for contrary to what I was always taught, he said keeping the air fresh is good for me. I always thought open windows let bad air in, but I am too weary to argue. Naboo has given me various tinctures and to my amazement, they work. He said there is a doctor he can call if my condition worsens, but believes I shall heal on my own, in time. 

I must stop now. I am too tired to continue writing. 

_ Letter from Howard to Vince _

Dearest Vince, 

I do hope you are recovering well. Naboo has written me with updates of your convalescence and I am glad to hear that you are not getting worse. I feel personally responsible for your current state and, again, I apologize. We should have gotten you into the bath and warmed up right away instead of being so diverted, and I am so sorry. 

I do miss you. I miss your laugh and your conversation and your company. I had not realized how lonely I was in life until I suddenly wasn’t. Now that I am again, I feel the pain even more keenly. 

Write to me when you are well enough. 

  
I remain yours, with love,    
Howard

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This cover song by the A-Teens nauseates me, which I take to mean that I did a good job selecting it. ;) 
> 
> Not many historical notes, except that beer really was consumed much more liberally on account of the water being bad, particularly in London. Boiling the water for tea made it potable, which might be part of why tea was so popular. 
> 
> Regency era medicine was not very advanced, so it's good that Naboo brought Vince back home and chooses to care for Vince himself rather than soliciting a doctor. Bloodletting was still commonplace, and as noted, it was believed fresh air made sicknesses worse (with the exception of seaside air, which, according to authors of the time like Jane Austen, had almost miraculous curing properties). It was thought that germs were carried through "miasmas," or evil air. In truth, Regency medicine was practically Medieval--the first rudimentary stethoscope wasn't invented until 1816, well after this story takes place! Read more about Regency medicine [here.](https://randombitsoffascination.com/2017/03/04/rename-a-touch-of-consumption-by-kyra-cornelius-kramer/)


	13. My Empire of Dirt

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Vince struggles being without Howard, and things get even harder for him when Naboo reveals the truth of his past. Bainbridge enacts his plot to get Vince away from London.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Classical: [Recercada, performed by Emilie Autumn](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=3WJh7CIEIU4)  
> Other: [Hurt, by Johnny Cash](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=8AHCfZTRGiI)  
>  Vauxhall: [Like a G6, by Far East Movement ](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=lSOsaeGwWaw)

_ Personal diary of Vince Noir _

I feel better. I am still a bit weak and tire easily, but the worst has passed. Naboo continues to care for me so wonderfully. I owe him so much and am so lucky to have him among my friends. 

Now comes the long process of healing. I shall have to remain in, I think, and try to distract my mind from thoughts of Howard. We write nearly every day, but I miss him terribly. 

_ Personal diary of Vince Noir, one week later _

I am nearly fully recovered. I have decided to go back to the Bazaar and have my hair cut in the style of a Frightened Owl. I quite like it, and I think Howard would like it, too. Imagine how surprised he will be when we see each other next and I have short hair! 

I am dreadfully sad without Howard and wish I could return to Leeds, but Naboo refuses. He wants to keep an eye on me, and said things are progressing in France. He withholds the details, but I feel he shall tell me soon about the state of affairs, once the fear of relapse has passed. 

I am terribly bored. I have read everything in Naboo’s library except for the locked books. I asked if I could read them and he said no, that they were full of ancient magic. I do not know if he jests or not, but I would believe him if he spoke in truth. 

_ Personal diary of Vince Noir, 3 days later _

I am in shock. 

I am utterly in shock. 

I had a long talk with Naboo today in his sitting room. He called me down and had tea and wine and said we needed to talk. He appeared somber, and I assumed this had to do with my affairs in France. I steeled myself, preparing for the worst, and sat. 

“Vince,” he said, with that curious and endearing lisp of his, “you know that I am your friend.” 

I nodded. “You are my best friend, Naboo, aside from maybe Howard,” I reassured him. 

“Do you remember at the docks when you arrived, how you saw me and knew who I was?” he asked. I nodded, for I did remember. 

“Yes,” I said slowly, not sure in which direction this conversation was going. “I saw you and felt as though I had known you my whole life.” 

Naboo sighed and took a deep drink of wine. “That’s because you have known me your whole life.” 

I laughed, thinking it a jest, but Naboo remained serious. “What do you mean?” I asked. 

Naboo sighed deeply and produced a stack of yellowed papers tied carefully in purple ribbon. “Vince. There is no delicate way to say this. You are my half-brother. Our father, Raymond Noir, was a member of the Secret Society of Shaman of Xooberon. He fell in love with an earth woman who begat you, then secreted you away to France so she could be with her lover.” He handed me the stack of papers. “These are our father’s letters and diaries. Read them at your leisure.” 

The room began to spin, and indeed, I think I swooned, for I came to as Naboo held smelling salts beneath my nose and encouraged me to drink. I took some tea, my head still spinning in shock. 

“Our… our father,” I said stupidly. 

“Yes,” he replied. 

“You know my parents?”

“I knew your father, for he was my father, too. And I know your mother’s name, though I never met her.” 

“Half-brothers…” my brain was stupidly trying to piece together information. “Who was your mother?”

“She was from Xooberon, died a long time ago,” he replied. 

“What is Xooberon? Where is it? What are you?” I asked, annoyed that my voice sounded hysterical. 

“Xooberon is a planet one galaxy over. Xooberanians look like humans and indeed, have had a similar evolutionary trajectory, but we are more advanced. The ‘secret society’ of which I am a part is, in the closest terms I can explain to you, a religious order, of sorts, who do magic and maintain peace and justice in our world.” He walked the room slowly, his hands clasped behind his back. “We came to Earth to scout for a potential outpost here, but Earth is not yet ready for us, obviously,” he said, fluttering his hand at me as though my reaction was indicative of humanity as a whole. He was sadly correct in this conjecture--Earth is not ready for beings from among the stars living with us. “Unfortunately, during our mission, our father met the Frenchwoman and fell in love. Having been widowed for two of your centuries--”

Here I swooned again. When I was again revived, Naboo continued his narrative. 

“I wanted our father to be happy again, like he was with my mother. He fell in love with the Frenchwoman and married her, but she was a coldhearted harlot who was unfaithful to him. By this time, we were too entrenched here to simply withdraw back to Xooberon. When my father told me his new wife was with child, I was excited, for I hadn’t any siblings, and even though you were half-earthling, I found myself pleased with the prospect of a brother.” 

I began to cry. All my life I have felt alone and uncertain of who I am or where I came from, and here, all the answers were being revealed. 

Naboo stood by looking nauseated as I wept, but it could not be helped. At last I regained my composure and continued my questions. 

“Two hundred years?”

“We age differently. Two hundred earth years are negligible amounts of time on Xooberon.” Naboo answered my questions sensibly and without elaboration.

“How did I end up in France? With Bryan Ferry?”

Naboo sighed heavily and sat down beside me. “Vince,” he said kindly. “I may be 247 earth years old, but that is very young on Xooberon. When you were born, I was little more than a child, maybe equivalent to seventeen or eighteen years old on Earth. I had just lost my father, was in the middle of my Shaman trials, and had no idea how to raise an Earth baby. I panicked. At the behest of the Shaman Council, I left you on Earth to be raised by Bryan Ferry, who was unorthodox but knew more than I did about Earth and its culture and children. I remained off-world, but spent massive energy checking up on you from Xooberon--”

“With the magic?” I interrupted.   


“Yes, with magic. I made sure you were well, that you were cared for. You were. Bryan Ferry was strange but he was, overall, a good adoptive father to you.”

“How did I get to France? Is my mother alive?”

“Your mother had a lover, an Earl, with whom she cuckolded our father. When we came to earth, we all assumed identities as nobility, for it is easier to move about on this planet with titles and wealth than it is without. Our father forsook a title, but posed as a very wealthy merchant, which attracted your mother.”    


“Are you wealthy?”

“The Shaman collectively have more wealth than you can possibly imagine,” he answered, no inflection in his voice to accompany this remarkable fact. 

“Couldn’t you have hired someone to raise me near you?” I asked, my voice sounding pitiful. 

Naboo looked at me sadly. “We considered it. But it was decided you should be raised on your homeworld and away from me and the influence of the Council. We are benevolent, overall, but I had quite a...  _ wild  _ time in my youth after Father died. They were concerned about the influence I might have over you and Earth was deemed safer.” 

I nodded. I felt terrible for Naboo, who must have suffered so much, even if he was an extraterrestrial posing as a Duke or whatever he was. He continued. 

“Your mother swapped babies, for she had an illegitimate son by the Earl, and claimed that was her legal son. It was not, for it was older than you and looked nothing like you. She hoped to gain money from our father and use that to put her, her lover, and her son in the way of the royal family, a goal she is still trying to accomplish as far as I know. The Earl hired a close friend named Dixon Bainbridge to kidnap you away to France. Father was outraged and scoured France looking for you. Father and I spent nearly a year searching for you. Father died, and it wasn’t long thereafter that I found you in an orphanage. I took you back to Bryan Ferry, not knowing where else to turn.”

“How did our--our father die?” I tripped on the words. 

“Hunting accident,” said Naboo. “Some idiots in the Forest of Orleans mistook him for a deer and shot him. Honestly, he was a changed man after you were kidnapped. Heartbroken. A shell of his former self. It was probably a kindness that he died so suddenly.” 

“I’m so sorry for your loss,” I said, and tried to hold his hand but he pulled away. I missed Howard so much in that moment that my eyes filled again with tears. “My mother lives then?”

“Yes,” he answered slowly. “She is the Countess Dior, for her lover, the Earl, has since passed away. Her son--”

“Lance,” I breathed. “Lance Dior.” 

“Yes,” said Naboo. “You know him?”

“We met at a dinner party last month,” I said. “He is abhorrent.” 

“Not surprising,” said Naboo. “Yvette has spent her whole life trying to climb the social ladder. Rumor is she’s slept with every duke in London to get as high as she can in society, and put her son in the way of a duchess or better.” 

“She would abandon me and betray our father… for a  _ title _ ?”

Naboo nodded and shrugged. “I am sorry, Vince. Now you understand why I wanted you here, in London. I’ve spent my whole life looking out for you.” 

I wept again, and Naboo hugged me awkwardly.  _ My brother!  _

I have read the papers and found the entire implausible story to be verified there. My handwriting looks just like my father’s. I am too exhausted to continue writing, and my nerves are utterly shattered. I must rest. 

_ Personal diary of Vince Noir, the next day _

I slept little last night, for my mind is so confused and I have so many questions. Naboo has been most kind and patient, answering me as best he can and trying to be reassuring and tolerant. 

I am so full of emotions. I am so sad for our father, who died young (for his age) and in such a senseless way. I am sad for Naboo, who suffered so much because of these unfortunate events. I am sad for me, that I am only just learning this now. I am angry with the Shaman for separating me from Naboo, even if we are only half-brothers, because any family is better than no family at all. I am especially angry with Yvette Dior. 

Naboo and I talked again for hours today. The same villain who was hired by the Earl Dior to kidnap me, Dixon Bainbridge, has been sucking dry my accounts in France. Saboo has proof of this. He also has incriminating proof against Bob Fossil, whenever he surfaces again, and believes they are working together. 

I feel so utterly betrayed by everyone.

I cried a lot today and Naboo was nice about it. He told me that our father had the black hair we all share, but Naboo's dark eyes. I asked him to tell me  _ everything  _ about Father. He did. Father sounds like a very interesting, funny, and good man. Naboo talked til his voice cracked, and then we parted ways. 

I have not written to Howard, for I do not know where to start. I am utterly heartsick. 

_ Personal diary of Vince Noir, a few days later _

I got out of bed and went to the Bazaar and had my hair cut today. It looks good. It was nice to feel in control of something. 

_ Letter from Naboo to Dennis, one week after telling Vince all of the information _

Dear Sire, 

I have told Vince everything. He is not taking it well, as we expected. He mopes about the house, sighing and looking out of windows. He went and had his hair cut and it sticks up in all directions and generally looks ridiculous. I know he misses Howard, too, and this has been very difficult for him. 

Yesterday, he was drunk at noon and claimed that drinking was the only thing that made him feel any better. Indeed, he ends most days by passing out drunk in his bed. I do not like this development and shall keep a close eye on him. 

Your servant,   
Naboo

_ Personal diary of Vince Noir, days later _

I am so depressed that I do not care whether I live or die. Poor Howard. I wish he could come back to me. Or I to him. I’m a bit drunk. I would love to make Howard climax, for he makes the most endearing faces when in the throes of passion. I miss him. There are social invitations but I won’t go to any of them, for they are not with Howard. 

I hate everything and I hate my life. 

_ Personal diary of Vince Noir, days later _

I have perfectly ruined my already horrid life.

Yesterday, I finally went through the stack of social invitations and found one from Lance Dior. Fire burned through me, I was so angry. I opened it. He and Lord Fauntleroy had invited me to dinner and Vauxhall Gardens. I laughed as I read it--how  _ dare  _ he try and socialize with me when his mother was responsible for all my misery! In anger, I replied “yes” and sent it off straight away. I wanted to look the devil in the eye. 

Leroy replied within hours and said to come around at six. I got dressed and had some whisky before departing. Being a trifle tipsy is the only way I can handle being in my own mind of late.

When I arrived, Leroy was very kind and welcoming and led me into his dining room where Lance Dior was sitting. I was so angered seeing him, I nearly grabbed a knife from the table and cut him up. But I didn’t. Maybe I was too depressed to do anything. I sat. Lance produced a bottle of cherry brandy as a gift for the host, claiming he knew it was a favorite of mine, and we drank to a long friendship. 

The brandy was delicious and warm and sweet, and I finished my glass, having become intimately familiar with the bottom of a glass in the last few weeks. I refilled it, and drank more, my head becoming comfortingly muddled. In truth, I don’t think I ate at all. I drank. 

After three glasses, I felt well bosky, and I think I  _ knew  _ that there was something else in the brandy other than brandy, but I did not care.  _ Let them poison me, _ I thought, _ they killed my father, they can add another Noir to the list.  _

Naboo told me later that there was laudanum in the brandy, and was amazed I hadn’t simply died from consuming too much, especially as I am coming off an illness. 

Well, I drank, getting drunker and drunker and in my intoxication, my anger vanished. I didn’t care anymore. After all, wasn’t Lance also my half-brother? Our mother was a heartless slattern but I shouldn’t hold that against him. 

Leroy said we should depart for Vauxhall and to my surprise, it was dark outside. I do not know how long we were there or how much I drank, but he and Lance were a bit drunk, too, though not on the drugged brandy. We had champagne in the carriage. The details of the night are very hazy. 

We arrived at Vauxhall, and I admit, I don’t remember much. I felt like I was floating or dreaming, and can not remember large parts of the evening. I know I was overwhelmed by sadness about my family and missing Howard, but I was very careful not to speak about those topics to Leroy or Lance. 

I was not pleasantly drunk. As the night wore on I felt terribly ill, nauseous and dizzy and disoriented. Everything spun out of control, the ground rising to meet me, and I was overheated and perspiring. My muscles did not move the way I wanted them to, and I felt limp and heavy and awful. I wanted to go home but Lance and Leroy would not have it. 

Vauxhall offered no pleasure, for everywhere we turned I was reminded of Howard. Somehow, I know not how, we ended up in the labyrinth and I almost wept, remembering my tender moments there with Howard. We were deep in the labyrinth, and I was so out of my mind I would never have found my way in or out without assistance. 

In a dark corner, we came upon a gnarly sailor who called himself “Kodiak Jack” and he wanted to know how much for me, assuming me to be a drunk rentboy. Leroy turned and ran, but Lance shoved me at him and said I was free, then he left, too. I called after them, but I was too drunk and sick to do much. The vile man rubbed up on me and called me horrible names. I started to cry, unable to do anything else. 

Suddenly, and I know not how it happened, but a group of prostitutes swept in like Valkyries, frightening off the disgusting sailor. I do not know how many there were, three or twenty, but they were beautiful, their breasts cresting in their low-cut dresses and their paste jewels shimmering and their red lips shiny in the dark. They petted me and fawned over me and I wept like a child. I think they knew I was unwell, and they led me out of the labyrinth. 

Imagine my horror when I emerged from the labyrinth, snot-nosed, drunk, and being propped up by two prostitutes, when who should be at the entrance, but Howard?

I thought I was hallucinating, but the girls curtseyed and he took a step toward me. He looked shocked and sad, and I said, “Howard” and then vomited all over, passing out after so doing. 

I am afraid I caused quite a scene, but I do not remember any of it.

I woke up this morning at Naboo’s, and he confirmed that the brandy was drugged. He has given me tinctures to help my roiling stomach and pounding head, but I have been vomiting and feverish all day. 

I asked about Howard. Naboo said he brought me home, though I was unconscious, then retired back to Leeds. He came to London meaning to surprise me. I cried so hard that I fell into a coughing fit. I told Naboo the entire pitiable account, and he admonished me for being so foolish, but then said no more of it. He said he would write to Howard and explain that I had not been cavorting with prostitutes at the gardens but had been the victim of yet another horrible scheme. 

I am sick in mind, body, and spirit. 

_ False letter from Howard to Vince, forged by Dixon Bainbridge and slipped under Naboo’s front door by Bob Fossil _

Dear Marquis, 

I think it best at this time if we terminate our friendship. I am sure you know why. Do not attempt to contact me, for I have no desire to speak with you again.

Sincerely,   
Lord Howard Moon, Duke of Leeds

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Once again, I'm imagining Vauxhall as a bass-thumping night club, only this time, poor Vince is off his head. 
> 
> Bosky = Regency slang for drunk. 
> 
> For all the imaginative ways the Regency folks described being drunk, there is absolutely no word for being hungover. There are a couple of interesting theories as to why, you can find them [here.](https://graceburrowes.com/wordcorner/hangover/)
> 
> The scene at Vauxhall where Vince is rescued from untoward gentlemen by prostitutes is lifted directly out of _Evelina_. She also is seen in this compromising position by her paramour, and is terrified that this will destroy her chances with him. So shout out, again, to Fanny Burney for that plot point! 
> 
> I promise it gets better, amigos. Hang in there!


	14. I'm Going Back Home

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Vince attempts to confront his mother, and decides everyone would be better off if he went back to France. This is, unfortunately, exactly what Bainbridge has been hoping for.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Classical: [Capriol Suite, II: Pavane, by Peter Warlock](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=RM07le8XZSw)  
> Other: [West Coast, by Coconut Records](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=qlYGEaeoBWw)

_ Letter from Fossil to Bainbridge _

Dear Dixiepoo, 

Lance did a good job--everyone in London is talking about how the foreign Marquis disgraced himself at Vauxhall. And I delivered the letter! I think Vince is so sad now that he will come back to France. I will stay here, as you ordered, and steal all of Vince’s letters from Howard so he doesn’t know that Howard has been writing to him. It is pretty much every day, there are so many envelopes. But they write to each other in French! How dare they! I can’t read that fancy nonsense talk! 

I wait for Vince to return to France. As soon as he does, I am out of here! 

Love,   
Bobby Bob

_ Letter from Naboo to Saboo _

Dear friend, 

Vince nearly died from an overdose of alcohol and laudanum the other night. Lance Dior drugged him and left him to be raped in Vauxhall. Some whores came to his rescue and who should arrive to see him drunk and in the company of a gaggle of loose women, but Howard bloody Moon.

I cannot believe the horrendous luck of my younger brother. He is  _ such _ an idiot. 

Then, this morning he refused to leave bed and showed me a letter from Howard, who has terminated their friendship. 

Does this make sense to you? I do not wish to pry into Vince's affairs, as indeed, his illicit liaison with Howard is illegal on Earth (can you even believe how backwards this planet is?), but I cannot imagine Howard would be so impetuous. I am at a loss for what to do. Vince has relapsed and is very ill, both in body and spirit. I worry, for I saw what effect this had on our father, and I do not want to lose Vince when I have just got him back. 

Please advise. Ask Tony Harrison, too. 

Your friend,   
Naboo    
  


_ Letter from Saboo to Naboo _

Dear Naboo, 

Your concern is justified, given what trauma you experienced with your father. My condolences, friend. Tony Harrison and I are at your service. Between the two of us, we can come up with no solid advice, other than to continue taking care of Vince and to take care of yourself. 

We might have a lead on Dixon Bainbridge’s whereabouts in Paris. It is small and not very compelling, but it is better than nothing. We shall not rest until we have ratted him out. I hope this news encourages you both. 

Best of luck,   
Saboo  
**_AND TONY HARRISON!!!!!!_ **

_ Letter from Naboo to Saboo _

Saboo, 

It has been a week since the incident at Vauxhall and Vince has barely stirred from his bed. He eats minimally and drinks nothing but sweetened tea. There have been no further letters from Howard, which incenses my anger terribly.

Are you any closer to finding Bainbridge? Perhaps that would cheer Vince. I am at a loss of what to do. He shall die of hysteria like a woman. 

-Naboo

_ Letter from Naboo to Saboo, four days later _

Vince says he will return to France, that there is nothing for him here in England but heartbreak and disgrace. I want to discourage him but I know not how. He is too ill to travel. I am worried. 

-Naboo

_ Personal diary of Vince Noir _

I am still weak and ill, but I roused myself today, drank some tea, and got dressed. I sneaked out of Naboo’s house before he rose. 

The last few days I have been out of my mind with grief, cycling through my family’s history and Howard’s rejection in turn. The one thing I could not understand was how a mother could abandon her child the way mine did. I resolved to speak with Yvette Dior. 

I took a hackney coach to her house and rang the bell, aware it was too early for callers but not caring. Time is meaningless. Everything is meaningless. 

Her butler allowed me in and asked who I was. I told him to tell her Vincent Noir was there to see her. I waited in the vulgar, gaudy foyer. When I first came to England, I would not have known the difference, but I now know what the homes of the truly wealthy look like, versus those who pretend to have more money than they do.

At last, footsteps on the stairs. A thin woman, her face veiled beneath an elaborate hat, descended. 

I had the same feeling looking at her that I had when I saw Naboo. I knew her. 

She stalked towards me and coldly asked, “What are you doing in my home at this hour?”

I did not know what to say. I had rehearsed countless conversations in my head while bedridden over the last week, but seeing her face-to-face… I found myself speechless. 

“It is I. Vince,” I said pathetically, feeling small and childlike. I swallowed the lump in my throat. 

“I do not know anyone by that name,” she answered, no inflection in her voice. 

My heart cracked.

“You married my father, Raymond Noir.” The words hung heavy as overripe fruit between us. “I am your son.” 

She stepped forward and struck my cheek, so hard and so fast that it shocked me. “Lance is my son,” she said, her voice full of malice. “Whoever you are, you penniless imposter, you interloper, leave. Immediately.” 

I clutched my cheek, which hurt an inconsequential amount next to my heart, which utterly broke. 

I reached up in a swift motion and knocked the hat from atop her head. 

“How dare you!” she shrieked, covering her face with her hands. 

“You are my mother,” I said, grabbing her wrists. “I would see your face at least once.” As I removed her hands, I saw why she took such lengths to cover her face. It was pockmarked, patches of flesh missing as though it had been rotted away. Tears filled her wide, blue eyes-- _ my  _ eyes. She had my cheekbones, high and angular, and my pointy face, but her hair was light, graying now, I saw. 

This old, syphilitic woman, who spewed only hatred and rejected me now as she had done twenty years ago, was my mother. 

I released her in disgust, and turned and left. We did not speak another word and I have no desire to. 

I hate her. I hate all of England and am going back to France. I cannot tell Naboo, for he would wish me to stay, but I have brought nothing but unhappiness to him. Hopefully he can forget about me and return to Xooberon, and I will go back to the forest and remain alone, unable to ruin any more lives. 

I only wish I could speak with Howard before I go. But he is right to reject me. Everyone else has. 

_ Letter from Naboo to Howard at Kiveton Hall _

Your Grace, 

I am writing on behalf of my brother, Vince. 

That is correct. Vince is my half-brother. 

I believe your treatment of him to be utterly deplorable. I have already written to you explaining that the incident that evening in Vauxhall was a misunderstanding. If you feel it would sully your pristine, if pompous and aloof, reputation to associate with him, that is between you and your God. However, I have seen your letter to him and it was needlessly cruel. You know, as well as I do, that Vince is delicate, like a flower, and must be treated gently. If you do not come to London to make things right between you, or at least terminate your friendship in person like a man, then I regret to inform you that I can no longer count you among my own associates. I shall have to turn my back on you. Blood is thicker than water, Howard, and your treatment of my brother is beyond reprehensible. 

I await a reply, unless you are too cowardly to offer one. 

Sincerely,   
Naboo

_ Letter postmarked from Kiveton Hall to Naboo _

Dearest friend, 

I admit, your last letter has confused me terribly. I never wrote to Vince wishing to terminate our friendship. Au contraire, I have written him countless letters begging for him to contact me after the incident in Vauxhall. Has he not received them? I thought he simply rejected them and did not wish to keep company with someone as stodgy and dull as myself. 

I believe your account wholeheartedly, for I have met both Vince, who is tender and gullible, and Lance Dior, who is a villain and a rake as sure as the pope is Catholic. I can see the evening playing out perfectly--Vince, consuming too much brandy, which was  _ drugged  _ no less, and being left to make a fool of himself before London’s glittering masses. I admit, when I beheld him in the company of paid companions and sick with drink, I assumed the worst, for how could I not in the face of such staggering evidence? 

I am loath to share the secrets of a drunk man, however, on the carriage ride back to your home, he was so endearingly sweet and affectionate, saying over and over again how he could not believe I’d come back and how happy he was… he wept, and kept saying unintelligible things about you and his father. 

Imagine my shock to see the state he was in, Naboo. He left Kiveton in illness, but he was bright-eyed and cheerful. When I saw him again in Vauxhall he was ill, pale and glassy-eyed and poisoned with laudanum, his hair cropped short… it distressed me terribly to see him in such a sorrowful state. However, in the face of such stupefying evidence, how could I assume anything other than the fact that he had tired of my company and sought out other, less desirable though more diverting, means of companionship?

Your confession to your parentage and relationship to Vince shocks me even further. I have not been in possession of all the facts, and I cannot apologize enough for any offense given to you and your noble family in my ignorance. I will return to London immediately, departing in the morning, as I feel this is a conversation best had in person and face-to-face with each other. 

Give Vince my regards, if he will receive them. 

With deepest sorrow and sincerest apologies, I remain, hopefully, your friend,   
Howard Moon, Duke of Leeds   
  


_ Letter from Vince to Naboo, left in his study _

Dear Naboo, 

I have returned to France, to the Maison du Ferry. At least there I have a home, and I am away from people. I can hurt no one there, and no one can hurt me. I have caused you so much heartbreak and suffering, and I am sorry. I have always wanted family, and I am so glad to have you. You have been so kind and generous to me, and I am forever grateful. 

Give me time to settle into my inheritance, but then please feel free to visit me as often as you can. 

Do not try and stop me, for I will not be deterred from my choice. 

Thank you for everything, brother mine. I remain yours, with much love,   
Vince

_ Letter from Vince to Howard, also left in Naboo’s study  _

Dear Howard, 

I understand completely why you would wish to dissociate from me. Indeed, I wish I could terminate my relationship with myself, if that makes sense. I acted utterly disgracefully, and in a manner not befitting gentlemen of our ilk. I am sorry you had to witness such a terrible scene as you did in Vauxhall that night. 

I have returned to France. You will not hear from me again. If you ever wish to be in communication, I would welcome it, for you were not only a casual dalliance for me. Regardless of anything else that came after, you were my first friend, not just in England, but in my life, and I thank you for that kindness. 

Best of luck, Howard. I wish you every happiness, as I remain, 

Your faithful friend,   
Vince Noir

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Most ladies and gentlemen would have known French, so it's not like Vince and Howard have a real cipher going by simply writing in another language. On the other side, there's almost no way Fossil would have lived in France for 20 years and NOT picked up some of it. Suspend your disbelief here, please. 
> 
> Syphilis was a major problem in these days, as very little was known about venereal disease, how they spread, or how to stop them. Rudimentary condoms existed, called "French Letters" and were usually pretty awful. My choice to give Vince's (and Lance's) mother this horrible, disfiguring disease is cruel, but she low-key deserves it. Anyway, wrap it before you tap it, gang! 
> 
> Things perk up next chapter, kids. Thanks for sticking with me this long!


	15. Like A Fire In My Blood

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Vince's departure to France is interrupted in both the worst and best possible ways.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Classical: [Violin Concerto No.2 in G Minor, by Vivaldi ](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=tvrGBIfwhkI)  
> Other: [Holding Out for a Hero, by Frou Frou](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=O2_x9np5w1k)

_ Letter from Fossil to Bainbridge _

Dear M’Bainbridge, 

Vince got in a carriage this morning! I think he is coming back to France. I bought a ticket for the Ferry and will see you in two weeks!   


YAY!

Love,   
Bobby 

_ Urgent letter from Naboo to Dennis _

Sire, 

Vince is gone. He disappeared and left letters saying he was returning to France. Howard arrived at my home this morning from Leeds, hoping to reconcile with Vince, but he is not here. We had a long talk and Howard is now in possession of all the facts of Vince’s story. 

I do not know what happened to all of Howard’s letters to Vince, but someone has been going through my post and that fact displeases me greatly. My bets lie on Bob Fossil, though I do not know where he has squirreled himself away. Please look into this matter for me, Sire, for I do not have the time nor magical energy to contend with Fossil while Vince is missing. 

My house is aflutter after the Marquis’s disappearance. Howard and I shall depart immediately to search for him, for he cannot return to France while Bainbridge is still at large. Furthermore, though it makes me ill to admit it, I want Vince and Howard to end up living happily ever after. So I need to go find him. Again.

If there is ever a point in my life when I am not looking for Vince, I shan’t know what to do with myself.

Your servant and everyone else’s,    
Naboo

_ Letter from Saboo, copied to both Dennis and Naboo, sent the same day as Vince’s disappearance _

WE HAVE BAINBRIDGE. He has been transported to the Bagne of Toulon, where he awaits trial. Bear in mind, we could spring him from prison and have him hanged on Xooberon if that is more to your liking. 

We have no word on Bob Fossil, but at last, Dixon Bainbridge is where he belongs. 

Naboo, tell Vince! It is now safe for him to come to France and together, we can reinstate his wealth and his inheritance. He can work with French authorities to recover the money stolen from him by Bainbridge, and be present as the leading witness in the trial against him. 

I know he did not accomplish the task of making a suitable marriage in London, but he can return to his Marquisate, take his seat, and lead a comfortable life here in France free from further danger from Bainbridge or the ghost of Earl Dior. 

~~ I remain ~~ We remain, faithfully yours, 

Saboo and Tony Harrison

_ Personal diary of Vince Noir  _

So much has happened, I barely know where to begin recounting it!

I suppose I shall start at the beginning. 

I departed two days ago for France. I packed a small bag, taking only what I deemed necessary and left letters for Naboo and Howard explaining my decision. Before dawn, I sneaked out of Naboo’s house and hired a hackney to take me to the docks. 

The ride from Dover to London seemed to take only moments when I traveled with Naboo that first day, so imagine my horror when the coachman told me it would be thirteen hours from London to Dover! Thirteen hours! He said he would take me if I could pay him and put us up for the night in a hotel along the way. I agreed, for I did not know how much that would cost but I was so miserable and disconsolate that I did not care. We departed London immediately. 

I felt such a sense of sorrow watching the beautiful, grey city pass me by. Dawn had just crested, and everything looked beautiful in the morning’s early light. I wept. Then I slept, for I have been so unwell of late that everything exhausts me. 

When I awoke, we were out of the city and along rambling country roads. I possessed not the heart to sketch the scenery as it passed, nor could I write any poetry like Byron and Keats--I was too weak and dejected. We stopped for food and to water the horses, but I could eat little. I drank only tea. Since the night in Vauxhall, I have no stomach for anything stronger than tea. 

I fell asleep again in the carriage when we set forth again. When I awoke, there was a brash Cockney voice threatening the driver. The horses had spooked into stillness, and I heard the Cockney say he’d “cut us up a treat.” I know I should have felt fear, but I did not. I was strangely free of any emotion but annoyance, that my journey out of England should be so interrupted by something as mundane as a highwayman. 

I must admit, and can do so as this is my personal diary, that I have often fantasized of being attacked by highwaymen. It seemed terribly romantic to me, before, when I did not know anything about romance. Now, it just seemed irritating. 

I emerged from the carriage and demanded to know what the devil wanted. The driver was cowering in fear, for the highwayman held aloft a long, curved knife, the kind which might be used to carve a roast. Again, I should have felt fear, but my emotions were all used up. The villain had scraggly white hair, a monocle over one eye, a top hat and cane, but was so disgusting in appearance that I hated to look upon him. 

“What do you want?” I asked tiredly. 

“Ooooohhh, pretty young lady, or sir, if it please ya,” he crowed. “Empty thy pockets, there’s a good lad.” 

With a shrug, I tossed him my coin purse. 

“And yer trunks, if it please ye,” he continued, waving the knife at me. 

“It doesn’t please me,” I answered. I think at this point I  _ hoped  _ he’d kill me. He started spewing a lot of nonsense about eels and the youth, and I know not what else, when I noticed the rumble of a carriage approaching behind us on the road. It arrived quickly, and I recognized it immediately as Naboo’s. 

Suddenly, the fear I should have been feeling on my own behalf roared to life. I did not want to put Naboo in harm’s way from this filthy Cockney ragamuffin. As I turned to see the carriage, so too, apparently, did my assailant, for he grabbed me and held the knife to my throat. 

“See,” he whispered in my ear, his hot breath sending a wave of panicked nausea through me, “that there’s a  _ real  _ coach, boy, of a  _ real  _ nobleman. I’ll use thee as ransom, see, get ‘im to pay me up real nice for sparing ye.” 

My limbs began to shake, for I was now very frightened. I did not mind so much if I came to harm by myself, but I hated to think that Naboo should be hurt in any way, or be forced to watch if this criminal did slit my throat along a nameless road in England. 

Imagine my horror when Naboo did not emerge from the carriage--but  _ Howard _ did! 

“Howard!” I cried, struggling against the disgusting Cockney. “Get back in--” 

My words were cut off as I felt the knife dig into my neck. I grew dizzy in my dread. My concerns doubled, for anything that would pain Naboo would injure Howard even worse. 

Howard approached slowly, his arms outstretched. “It’s all right, Vince. It’s going to be alright.” 

“Bloody won’t be, squire!” shouted my captor. He grabbed a fistful of my hair and yanked it back, exposing my throat. The pain made my eyes water. “Ye come one step closer and I’ll slice this beauty’s throat right here ‘n now.” 

Howard held up his hands in a placating gesture. “I mean no harm to you, sir. What do you demand of me in exchange for his safety?”

The disgusting scoundrel made a show of licking my ear. Howard stepped forward in anger, and I felt the knife bite my throat, and the warm, slow trickle of blood made me sick. I may have swooned, only I did not want to fall into the arms of the highwayman. I wanted to fall into Howard’s arms. 

“Empty thy pockets, ‘good sir,’” sneered my assailant. 

“By God’s truth, I have nothing,” replied Howard. I knew he was telling the truth, but the highwayman could not. To prove his point, Howard reached into his pockets and turned them out--they were empty. I had hoped he would produce a pistol, but I had no such luck. Not from poor, sensible Howard. 

The Cockney exclaimed angrily and raised the knife, dragging it across my cheek. It hurt, and I knew it was bleeding, and I worried vainly if it would scar. Howard looked positively furious and I was so moved by his reaction, my mind whirred and I felt dangerously close to fainting. 

“Ye’ll find something or I’ll bleed this one out like a stuck pig!” the Cockney shouted. “Would ye like that, boy, to see his pretty blood all over the road?” 

“No, sir, I wouldn’t, sir,” said Howard, panic edging his voice. 

“I’ll slash him up, then I’ll do you,” the highwayman growled. 

“No,” whined Howard. “Please. I’ve got so much to give!” 

“Like what?” laughed the highwayman. “Near as I can tell, thou’ve got nothing to give. Who d’ye think ye are, anyway?” 

“I’m Naboo, that’s who,” drawled a familiar lisping voice. A shot fired, and the highwayman yelped with pain, dragging the knife down and painfully slicing into my shoulder before he slumped on the ground. I turned to see Naboo holding the smallest pistol I have ever beheld, noticed the Cockney had been shot in the foot, and realizing I was out of harm’s way, proceeded to swoon--

\--right into Howard’s outstretched arms. 

I revived some time later, for Naboo had the foresight to bring along his smelling salts. Howard held me against his broad chest and was stroking the hair away from my face, holding a handkerchief to my wounds. 

“Howard,” I croaked. “You came back?”

“Of course, dearest Vince,” he said. His eyes sparkled with unshed tears. “Nice hair,” he said with a grin, and I started laughing but laughter soon gave way to tears, for I fear the entire episode made me most hysterical. 

Naboo had tied up the Cockney and shoved him into my hackney carriage, whenceupon he proceeded to berate the driver for having no defenses against highwaymen and paid him to “fuck off” and deliver the villain to the nearest police. My one bag spilled out along the roadside, and Naboo kindly gathered my things back together. 

Howard held me as I cried myself out, and kindly wiped away my tears. He dared not kiss me in public before Naboo and his driver, but I could tell he wanted to. I wanted to kiss him, too, but I was horribly weak and so lightheaded, for I am still recovering from my prolonged illness and such shattering of my nerves could barely be tolerated. 

Howard offered me some brandy from a flask but I refused, for I cannot stomach alcohol of any kind after Lance Dior’s nasty trick. 

Howard helped me into the carriage, and together with Naboo, we set back for London. 

Imagine my surprise to find we were not even four hours out of the city! I have such terrible luck. 

Howard and I spoke. He never wrote that letter! We conjectured it must have been forged, possibly by Bob Fossil, who also hid away the numerous letters Howard did write to me. Our entire misfortune was nothing more than a miscommunication! Naboo helped fill in the gaps of our stories, but Howard and I spent the whole journey recounting our versions of events over the last few weeks. 

Poor Howard, for I have caused him such distress. He thought I found him too dull and boring a companion, and that I had abandoned him as his fiancee had done! Imagine! I reassured him that nobody held any interest for me on earth but him, and I did press a kiss to his cheek. Naboo kindly said nothing and Howard blushed the most alluring shade of red. 

Naboo unwound a spare turban he keeps in his carriage and used it to fashion a bandage for my shoulder, which appeared to sustain the most damage. It hurt terribly, but I was so ecstatic about being reunited with Howard that I barely noticed. The blood made me woozy, though, and I slept again. Sleeping against Howard, in a bumpy carriage, was the best sleep I have had since leaving Kiveton Hall. 

We returned to Grosvenor Square and Naboo took control of the situation, doctoring me as he had done during my illness. He insisted on a bath, prepared by Bollo, and then dressed my various wounds. I did nearly cry again when I looked in the glass and saw the gash on my cheek, for in my vanity I was terrified it would scar. A scar on the shoulder is one thing, but on the face… it is so noticeable. Naboo chided me and said not to worry, that once it had healed he had a potion that would get rid of the scar. This soothed my fears a bit. 

While Naboo gathered his medicines, Bollo spoke with me and expressed his relief that I was home safe. In honesty, I did not think the ape-butler cared for me at all, but I saw the emotions in his strangely human eyes, and I hugged him. Being hugged by a gorilla is a unique experience. He smelled of bananas and told me never to tell Naboo that he had embraced me. I agreed, and now I have a secret with Bollo, who I think could be a very good friend to have on one’s side. 

Naboo finished patching me up and gave me something to drink for the pain. I was hesitant, but he told me it was a child’s dose, that I need not worry. He is my brother, after all, so I drank it and then Naboo tucked me into my bed. All the while, Howard stood nearby shuffling around awkwardly, as though he felt in the way but did not know where else to situate himself. Once Naboo and Bollo had cleared out of my room, I patted the foot of my bed, and thankfully, Howard sat. 

I reached my hand out towards him, and he took it. The pieces of my heart which had been so shattered began to mend. 

Neither of us spoke, even though in the carriage it seemed like all I wanted to say to Howard were things I could not say in front of Naboo. Howard rubbed his thumb over the back of my hand and had I not cried out my allotment of tears for the day, I could have wept with how kind the simple gesture was. His touch sparked fire within me after so very long without it. 

“I hope you will forgive me,” I said softly. I was exhausted, and whatever Naboo had given me was starting to make me feel sleepy. 

Howard chuckled sadly. “There is nothing to forgive, Vince. It is I who should beg forgiveness of you. I rushed to illogical conclusions and--”

“You reached completely logical conclusions,” I said, casting my eyes downwards in shame. “I  _ was  _ unbelievably drunk and cavorting through the pleasure gardens with hired women.” 

“You did not hire them, nor did you cause your own unfortunate situation.” 

“I drank enough to be drunk, laudanum or no,” I confessed. 

Howard shook his head. “Let us put the incident behind us, Vince. The real villains of this story are Lance Dior and your erstwhile servant, Bob Fossil.” 

I nodded. Fossil… I wondered where he was? I wondered if he had the letters Howard had written me. 

“What did you say to me? In the letters I never received?” 

Howard blushed again sheepishly. “All sorts of things. Fossil cannot speak French, can he?”

“Non, mon cher,” I replied. 

“Dieu merci,” he responded. “I wrote to you in that tongue in the hopes that if our letters  _ were  _ intercepted, we should not be imprisoned for sodomy.” 

I smiled. Clever Howard. “Then he could puzzle over them for weeks and never learn a thing,” I replied happily, my words growing hazy around the edges in my lassitude. “Tell me what you said, Howard.” 

“Mon cher, Vince,” he began, his voice low and velvety. I tingled from head to toes to hear his voice speak my name again. “Que dois-je faire sans toi, mon couer? Chaque instant sans toi est une agonie…”

“Oh,  _ Howard,”  _ I gasped. He had never spoken French to me before and I grew so aroused that I pulled him down towards me and crushed him into a kiss. I cursed Naboo for giving me something to put me to sleep, because my body responded sluggishly even though my mind did not. I would have brought Howard to orgasm at  _ least  _ three times, but my cock would not respond and my limbs were too heavy to do anything but kiss him languidly, tangling my free hand in his hair as he kissed me back. 

“Sorry,” I said, my eyelids hanging heavily. “S’whatever Naboo gave me. I won’t be awake long, mon couer.” Howard kissed my eyes and my nose and again on the lips. 

“Sleep, mon petit chou,” he whispered in my ear. “I will be here when you awake.” 

Still grasping his hand in mine, I slept. 

When I awoke, Howard was sprawled out, asleep in the chair beside my bed. I grabbed my notebook as quietly as I could and sketched him, though the movement did hurt my shoulder terribly. Luckily, it was my right shoulder which was injured and as I am left-handed, I got a very rough sketch as he snuffled awake, looking as adorable as he did so. 

“Vince,” he said, his voice rough with sleep. 

“Morning, Howard,” I replied, placing my notepad and graphite on the bedside table. “What time is it?”

Howard consulted his pocket watch and told me it was five-thirty in the morning. I had been asleep nearly eighteen hours! 

“You stayed in my room all this time?” I asked, incredulous though I did not put it past Howard to be so attentive. 

“Yes,” he replied humbly. “Naboo tried to get me to move into a guest room or change my clothes, but I admit… I did not want to leave your side.” 

My heart warmed with affection for him when he told me this. 

“It’s so early, Howard,” I whispered, though I know not why. Naboo’s room is on the other side of the house and it was only us in the small bedroom, but it felt like we should whisper. “Come to bed and rest for an hour or two,” I said, patting the bed beside me.

Howard smiled that soft half-grin and removed his shoes and jacket. Seeing him disrobe aroused me, but I was too weak and tired to do anything very impassioned. He removed his cravat and waistcoat and belt, and then, comfortable as he could be while still wearing day clothes, he crawled into bed beneath the covers with me. 

We kissed for what felt like hours and it was still not nearly enough--warm, soft kisses. I had missed his smell so much. Granted, he was travel-worn and rumpled and had not bathed since arriving in London, but he still smelled gloriously Howard-like, like tea and smoke and old parchment and sandalwood. 

As we kissed, Howard looked as though he might cry more than once and I soothed him with my hands and my words and my mouth. More than once he ground his glorious erection against my thigh and I urged him on, using my left hand wrapped around his to bring him to completion. It was not the uproarious climax we had enjoyed at Kiveton Hall, but softer, somehow closer, quieter. I was still not stirred to hardness myself, and assured Howard this was not his fault, for I still longed for him as strongly as I ever had, and told him that my body had been through so much since leaving Leeds that it needed to heal and rest before it could function in that way. He nodded, sleepy again, and we kissed drowsily until we both fell back asleep, wrapped in each other’s arms. 

When we awoke again the sun was out and we smelled breakfast foods. Howard was ravenous, and I found that even I had a small appetite, so we rose and he helped me into my dressing gown and he redressed himself, and we walked to Naboo’s dining room arm in arm. 

Naboo and Bollo were breaking their fasts and welcomed us. There was a lot of food, but none of it looked very good to me. I had some toast and tea and sliced apple, but I was so happy to be in the company of the people I loved best that my joy sustained me plenty. 

Once we had eaten, we talked again, going over the events and making sure we all had a clear chronology. Both Howard and Naboo wanted to seek satisfaction from Lance for his shabby treatment of me, but I forbade it. Men like Lance Dior will meet their just ends in time, I insisted. Furthermore, I refuse to lose either of them for vengeance upon so petty a prank. I reminded them, after all, that Lance and I were blood by our mother, and I did not wish for my brothers to fight, nor for my brother and my paramour to come to arms. Howard blushed terribly and stammered a lot, trying to explain away my use of the word, but Naboo stopped him and said he knew and it was fine. 

Naboo told Howard the long and twisted tale of how he came to be on Earth and about Xooberon and the Shaman and our father. Howard requested something stronger than coffee and Bollo brought him some whisky. He drank it as he listened, and did not seem too terribly affected by the strange tale, for which I loved him even more. 

“You’ve always been a strange bastard, Naboo,” said Howard. “If you accept… if you accept me, us,” he said, glancing at me, “the way we are, then I accept you the way you are.” He toasted Naboo and drained his glass, and we retired to the sitting room.

Naboo checked my bandages and seemed satisfied with the progress my wounds were making. He ordered Howard to return to his townhome at once and bathe, which Howard grudgingly did. I was about to fall asleep on the settee when Naboo produced an envelope from Saboo, postmarked from France. I opened it eagerly and laughed aloud when I read that Dixon Bainbridge, the villain who had carried out the cruelest of all crimes done against me, had been apprehended. Naboo asked if I wanted him to receive justice on Earth or Xooberon, and I said Earth, since I know what misery we are capable of here. He nodded and penned a missive to his master and to Saboo. 

I asked him when I could go to France and he said within a few weeks, hopefully, if I convalesced well and followed directions. He said he and Bollo and Howard would join me, and I am so excited for the journey I can barely wait. 

I dozed until Howard returned, and we talked for hours, going over the tale of my life as best as we both understood it. I love him so very much, my heart feels fit to burst with it. 

It is night now. We have eaten, and Howard is asleep in my bed and soon I will join him. How strange, is it not, how quickly the tides of fate can change? Two days ago I wished for death. Now he could not drag me away from this beautiful life. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The Bagne of Toulon is a real prison in France, most notable for housing the fictional Jean Valjean. The Bastille had already been destroyed in the French Revolution by this point in time.
> 
> The ride from Dover to London taking thirteen hours was, again, some really sketchy math on my part. I figure it went quicker with Naboo because Naboo has the ability to travel through time and space. 
> 
> Non, mon cher: no, my dear  
> Dieu merci: thank God  
> Mon cher: my dear  
> Que dois-je faire sans toi, mon couer? Chaque instant sans toi est une agonie: What should I do without you, my heart? Every moment without you is agony.  
> Mon couer: my heart  
> Mon petit chou: literally translates to "little cabbage," but it's a common French term of endearment


	16. Epilogue: I've Been Doing Just Fine

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> One year later...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Song: [Piano Cover of Mr. Brightside](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=3NDyvWI6Q5c)

_ Letter from Vince to Naboo, one year later _

Dearest Naboo, 

Howard and I rode to check on the tenants today. The weather was lovely, that beautiful, small season between autumn and winter when the air is cool but the leaves have not yet lost their color. The mornings are frosty but there is so snow, and everything seems cool and quiet. 

As you recall, upon my return to France I spent a few days riding through my marquisate and getting to know my tenants. Indeed, there are not many, but the few I have seem to be fiercely loyal to me, and in a small way, dependent upon my benevolence, which makes me feel a modicum of importance and responsibility. 

Howard and Saboo rode with me today to visit the silverer, Mr. Susan; the musicians, Mssrs. Dijon and van Disarzio; Captain Margaret; the author named Hamilton Cork; a woman of dubious morals who goes only by “Eleanor;” and an amorous fisherman named Gregg. I dislike Gregg immensely because he has an unnerving gaze and clearly lusts after my Howard. I have avoided him as much as possible, but today we crossed paths again. I made sure to keep Howard at a safe distance.

The tenants are all good people, if a bit eccentric (I would expect nothing less from Bryan Ferry’s marquisate), and they keep up their lands and do not bother me too much. I do what I can to resolve their issues and make their lives easier, with Howard’s guidance. 

Saboo has worked  _ wonders  _ for my finances. We were able to reinstate all access to my inheritance from Bryan Ferry, not to mention what father left aside for me. I cannot thank you enough for holding aside my portion of the inheritance. How easy it would have been for you to spend it lo these many years when I did not even know of your existence! Saboo is correct about you: you may smoke your brains to mush, but your heart is of the finest caliber, brother. 

I know you dislike such effluvient displays of affection, but I do love you very much and shan’t mention it again for the duration of this letter. 

Saboo has been assisting me with investing, and I believe Howard and I will be comfortable for as long as we live. Saboo is helping me make donations to the orphanages in London and Orleans, to improve the living conditions of the children there. If not for your persistence and kindness, I would be among them, and as I am in a position to help them, I shall.

Bainbridge remains locked away in the Bagne of Toulon. I have not seen or spoken to him nor will I. The evidence you provided that he was complicit in my kidnapping as a baby, in addition to the more recent charges of fraud and embezzlement, have secured him an extended stay in the prison, and I rest comfortably at night knowing this is the case.

I have heard nothing from or about Bob Fossil. Perhaps the rumors we have heard are true, that he has taken an interest in zoology and gone back to the American colonies. His betrayal hurt so badly when it happened, but I find I cannot find it within myself to wish him harm. I hope he exists as pleasantly as he is able.

The renovations on your wing are coming along nicely! The workers say they shall be completed soon. I was dubious at first of your choice of colors, but they have turned out to be so enchanting and vibrant. The carpeting will be going in next, and once that task is completed, we can move in furniture. I do hope you will come and stay as often as possible, for I find that I miss you terribly ever since you sold your home in Grosvenor Square and returned to Xooberon. 

Saboo has asked to redecorate his suite of rooms as well, and I am more than happy to oblige him. He will be returning in a few days’ time to Xooberon, as I am sure you’re aware. He has been most helpful, popping in every few months as he has to assist me settle in to the marquisate. I am grateful our father made such reliable friends. Saboo is also teaching me to play cards and says I have become almost as worthy an opponent as father! This pleases me greatly. 

I have yet to meet the mysterious Mr. Harrison, and hope to do so soon. You and all of our friends on Xooberon are cordially invited to spend Christmas here at the Maison if you so wish. 

Howard and I have decided to split our time between France and England, maintaining both our ancestral homes. We will winter in France, for the weather is slightly milder here and the woods are so movingly beautiful when covered in snow. Summer in Leeds is magnificent, and as you may recall, we happily spent all day out riding on the moors this past year. Regardless of the season, we spend each night in each other’s beds and I love Howard more with each passing day. 

Indeed, I will never tire of Howard at all. I have not told him about your offer to marry on Xooberon, but the more I think about it the more I love the idea, for I would rather have Howard be my husband on some world beyond the stars than on none. As we are not permitted to live as man and wife (or man and man) on earth, I believe we shall come and be wed on Xooberon sometime in the future. I have not proposed this to Howard yet, but I believe he would be willing. Perhaps I shall ask him on Christmas morning! 

My face has healed well, scarless as you promised. However, I do bear a scar on my shoulder and it aches sometimes when the weather is too cold and wet. Howard likes it, though, says it makes me look rough and masculine. I have never been rough or masculine, but he does this thing with his tongue where he--

I shall stop. 

You said I could speak to you of anything, and all you need know is this: Howard is wonderful in bed--attentive and inventive. I am not sure why everyone imagines him to be such a prude, for he is most adventurous. Granted, not all our experiments end well, but we have a good time regardless. I must thank you for suggesting that I try on a woman’s corset. It turns out, Howard has a penchant for men in women’s clothing. This suits me  _ wonderfully,  _ for I do love beautiful fabrics and ribbons and embroidery and would happily drape myself in ladies’ silks just for the mere pleasure of it. However, we keep such activities to the bedroom. It might embarrass you to hear it, but I will never slake my lust of him. 

I can hear your retching from here, dear brother! I will desist. But love is such a curious thing. It is like a disease. I cannot help but symptomatically tell everyone how wonderful Howard is. I hope that someday you can experience the level of love that I share with Howard. I do try my best to be as good to you as you are to me, but it is not the same, obviously. How terribly lonely you must get, my poor brother, traversing the galaxies for centuries. Still, I am immensely grateful for the Secret Order of Shaman, for taking care of both of us. 

Speaking of the Shaman, I meant to ask you: I find that I can communicate with the animals on the Marquisate. Bryan Ferry always said he could, but I thought he was telling imaginative tales for the sake of me, his child. Is this possible? If so, is it some sort of Shamanic ability? Might I too join the Secret Order one day? 

The night draws in around us. Saboo is in his room, and Howard has just emerged from a bath, all pink and warm and lovely. I will go to him now, dearest brother. Take care out there among the stars, and thank you, as always, for looking after me all these years. 

I remain, your loving brother,   
Vince  
Marquis de la Forêt

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> That's it, darlings! Thanks to all of you for reading and sticking it out! I hope you enjoyed reading it as much as I enjoyed writing it. <3


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